Ex  Lihris 
Roger  K.  Larson 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 


MEMORIAL  FUND 


From  a  photograph  by  Sarony,  taken  in  /$62. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 
BAYARD  TAYLOR 

EDITED   BY 

MARIE    HANSEN-TAYLOR 

AND 

HORACE  E.  SCUDDER 

IN   TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  II. 


BOSTON 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

New  York:  11  Bast  Seventeenth  Street 


1884 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  MARIE  IIANSEN-TAYLOR. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


Poet !  Thou  whose  latest  verse 
Was  a  garland  on  thy  hearse ; 
Thou  hast  sung  with  organ  tone, 
In  Deukalion's  life  thine  own. 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

I  am  a  voice,  and  cannot  more  be  still 

Than  some  high  tree  that  takes  the  whirlwind's  stress 

Upon  the  summit  of  a  lonely  hill.  .  .  . 

Such  voices  were,  and  such  must  ever  be, 

Omnipotent  as  love,  unforced  as  prayer, 

And  poured  round  Life  as  round  its  isles  the  sea ! 

Prince  DeuTcalion. 


CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME  II. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PAGE 

NOVEL- WRITING 415 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  PICTURE  OF  ST.  JOHN 439 

CHAPTER  XX. 
BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE 469 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT 496 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST       524 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A  BUSY  MAN'S  REST       547 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS 571 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
LARS 589 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  PROPHET 623 


Vi  CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME  II. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

PAGE 

IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN       656 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
THE  NATIONAL  ODE 680 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
PRINCE  DEUKALION 696 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
MINISTER  TO  GERMANY 718 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
FINAL  DAYS 742 

INDEX  771 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PORTRAIT  OF  BAYARD  TAYLOR.    From  a  photograph  by 

Sarony Frontispiece 

CEDARCROFT 415 

FACSIMILE  OF  BAYARD  TAYLOR'S  HANDWRITING.    From 

"  Prince  Deukalion  "    .  711 


Cedarcroft. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

NOVEL-WEITING. 

1863-1865. 

The  Poet's  leaves  are  gathered  one  by  one, 
In  the  slow  process  of  the  doutful  years. 
Who  seeks  too  eagerly,  he  shall  not  find  : 
Who,  seeking  not,  pursues  with  single  mind 
Art's  lofty  aim,  to  him  will  she  accord, 
At  her  appointed  time,  the  sure  reward. 

The  Poet's  Journal. 

"  HANNAH  THURSTON  "  was  published  a  few  weeks 
after  Bayard  Taylor's  return  to  America.  It  was  ded 
icated  to  Mr.  Putnam,  in  a  letter  which  acknowledged 
gratefully  the  kindness  which  the  publisher  had  shown 
the  author  ever  since  the  day  when  they  met  in  Lon 
don,  and  bore  testimony  to  the  unselfish  nature  of  a 
man  who  holds  an  honorable  place  among  American 

VOL.  II.  1 


416  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

publishers,  and  whose  own  failure  to  achieve  lasting 
success  was  never  embittered  by  the  reproaches  of  the 
authors  to  whose  interests  he  gave  himself  unreserv 
edly.  Mr.  Putnam,  to  whom  the  dedication  was  a 
pleasant  surprise,  wrote  in  reply  a  frank,  manly  let 
ter,  in  which  he  says,  "As  for  exemption  from  the 
ordinary  share  of  human  selfishness,  I  don't  claim  it 
and  never  have,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  have  acted  at 
any  time  by  you  on  any  higher  principles  than  mere 
justice  and  mutual  benefit,  except  that  I  have  had  the 
satisfaction  of  feeling  that  confidence  and  good-will 
were  also  mutual  between  us ;  and  that  if  I  had  been 
able  to  do  a  good  deal  more  for  your  interests  the 
service  would  have  been  most  worthily  rendered  if 
rendered  to  you,  and  would  have  been  equally  for  my 
advantage  too.  In  fact,  antagonism  between  author 
and  publisher,  even  outside  of  personal  relations,  has 
always  seemed  to  me  impolitic  and  absurd." 

The  dedication  also  contains  some  passages  which 
indicate  the  attitude  which  the  author  took  toward  his 
first  novel.  "  I  do  not,"  he  says,  "  rest  the  interest  of 
the  book  on  its  slender  plot,  but  on  the  fidelity  with 
which  it  represents  certain  types  of  character  and 
phases  of  society.  That  in  it  which  most  resembles 
caricature  is  oftenest  the  transcript  of.  actual  fact,  and 
there  are  none  of  the  opinions  uttered  by  the  various 
characters  which  may  not  now  and  then  be  heard  in 
almost  any  country  community  of  the  Northern  and 
Western  States." 

The  defense  which  an  author  sets  up  beforehand  for 
his  work  is  pretty  sure  to  indicate  not  necessarily  its 
weakness  but  the  point  most  likely  to  be  attacked. 
The  class  of  people  satirized  in  the  novel  were  loud  in 
their  denial  of  its  truthfulness,  but  the  author  had  the 


NOVEL-WRITING.  417 

satisfaction  of  seeing  the  book  diligently  read  in  circles 
most  qualified  to  pass  upon  its  faithfulness  to  nature, 
and  of  hearing  both  willing  and  unwilling  testimony  of 
its  accuracy.  Indeed,  the  success  of  the  book  was  most 
emphatically  with  the  people  who  read  a  novel  for 
what  it  may  betray  of  human  life.  The  critics  and 
those  who  look  more  narrowly  to  the  artistic  plan  were 
divided  in  their  judgment.  The  very  carefulness  of 
the  novelist  not  to  allow  his  characters  to  become  cari 
catures  exposed  him  to  the  peril  of  a  too  level  por 
traiture,  and  the  fact  that  the  phase  of  life  which  he 
depicted  had  its  presentation  in  Kennett  made  him  rely 
often  upon  actual  circumstances  and  words  which  he 
reported  with  fidelity.  The  form  of  the  novel  was  an 
experiment  with  him,  although  he  had  tried  his  hand 
at  short  stories,  and  a  certain  caution  in  movement 
followed  from  the  unfamiliarity  of  the  exercise.  Never 
theless,  the  thing  in  "Hannah  Thurston "  which  he 
was  aiming  at  he  reached,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
him  to  find  this  recognized  by  others  and  by  those  who 
had  the  best  right  to  know  whether  or  no  he  had  suc 
ceeded.  Hawthorne,  for  example,  wrote  to  him,  "  The 
book  is  an  admirable  one,  new,  true,  and  striking,  — 
worthy  of  such  a  world-wide  observer  as  yourself,  and 
with  a  kind  of  thought  in  it  which  does  not  lie  scat 
tered  about  the  world's  highways." 

The  fall  of  1863  was  spent  at  Cedarcroft,  whence 
Bayard  Taylor  made  occasional  journeys  to  Canada  to 
secure  an  English  copyright  for  "  Hannah  Thurston," 
and  to  various  places  to  meet  lecture  engagements. 
He  wrote  a  lecture  on  "  Russia  and  her  People,"  but 
gave  most  of  his  leisure  to  poetry.  At  the  request  of 
Ticknor  &  Fields  he  prepared  a  revised  edition  of  his 
poems  to  be  put  in  the  series  then  very  popular,  known 


418  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

from  its  binding  as  the  "  Blue  and  Gold  "  editions. 
He  also  worked  from  time  to  time  on  his  poem,  "  The 
Picture  of  St.  John,"  and  he  carried  forward  the  work, 
which  he  had  conceived  nearly  fifteen  years  before,  of 
a  translation  of  Goethe's  "  Faust."  The  experiments 
which  he  had  made  in  translating  Riickert,  Hebel,  and 
other  German  poets  disclosed  to  him  his  facility  in  re 
producing  both  the  rhythm  of  the  original  and  the  po 
etic  sense.  He  began  with  rendering  the  lyrical  por 
tions.  The  more  he  tried  the  work  and  the  better 
acquaintance  he  had  with  previous  translations,  the 
more  confidence  he  felt  in  undertaking  a  complete 
translation. 

Immediately  after  the  new  year  opened  he  removed 
his  family  to  New  York  for  the  winter,  and  was  off  and 
on  lecturing  until  the  spring.  He  only  needed  to 
finish  his  series  of  engagements  to  begin  eagerly  upon 
his  second  novel,  "John  Godfrey's  Fortunes,"  which 
had  long  been  outlined  in  his  mind. 

TO   GEORGE   H.   BOKER. 
156  EAST  14xn  ST.,  NEW  YORK,  Friday,  March  11,  1864. 

Congratulate  me  !  I  gave  my  last  lecture  on  Wednesday 
night.  This  makes  about  fifty  for  the  winter.  I  had  an  attack 
of  fever  in  Michigan  ten  days  ago,  brought  on  by  fatigue  and  ex 
posure,  and  am  still  a  little  weak,  but  in  capital  spirits.  I  shall 
commence  work  on  my  new  novel  this  afternoon  or  to-morrow. 
Putnam  is  now  printing  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  thousands 
of  "  Hannah,"  and  the  sale  keeps  up  finely.  I  have  just  had  a 
remittance  of  one  hundred  pounds  from  London.  In  pecuniary 
matters  I  consider  myself  pretty  well  out  of  the  woods.  .  .  .  Gra 
ham  has  presented  me  with  a  splendid  library  table,  and  I  want  to 
have  the  library  finished  for  occupation  this  year.  All  this  is  en 
couraging,  and  takes  a  great  strain  off  my  mind  for  the  future, 
though  not  for  my  sake. 

We  shall  be  here  until  April  1st.  Why  can't  you  come  on  for 
a  day  or  two,  at  least,  and  let  us  all  be  together  once  more  ? 

...  I  have  read  "  Sordello  "  !  and  retain  (though  with  some 
effort)  my  reason. 


NOVEL-WRITING.  419 

Cedarcroft,  with  every  addition  that  was  made  and 
every  new  growth  of  the  rich  nature  in  the  midst  of 
which  it  was  planted,  became  dearer  to  its  owner  and 
more  exacting  in  its  demands.  He  asked  for  short 
winters  in  the  city,  much  as  he  enjoyed  the  society  and 
pleasures  which  winter  life  in  town  brought,  and  long 
summers  at  Cedarcroft,  where  he  kept  open  house  and 
led  the  ideal  life  of  a  poet  who  was  country-gentleman 
as  well.  There  were  a  stable  to  be  built,  a  well  to  be 
dug,  trees  and  hedges  to  be  planted,  a  terrace  raised, 
and  an  infinite  diversity  of  labor  to  be  expended  upon 
an  estate  which  could  yield  fruits  for  the  market  and 
table  and  pleasures  untold  to  the  eye  and  ear. 

In  his  library  he  worked  at  "  John  Godfrey's  For 
tunes,"  "  The  Picture  of  St.  John,"  and  "Faust."  He 
had  not  yet,  indeed,  absolute  leisure  of  mind.  He  must 
needs  drop  pen  and  hasten  off  to  fulfill  lecture  engage 
ments  for  the  money  which  they  brought  in ;  and  in 
spite  of  his  buoyant  mind,  the  care  of  providing  for 
the  expenses  of  an  estate  vexed  him  at  times,  and  set 
him  upon  plans  which  interfered  sadly  with  poetry. 
Nevertheless  it  was  a  time  of  exhilaration  with  him, 
and  he  was  quickly  absorbed  in  his  literary  work  after 
each  interruption.  His  hospitality  and  frank  wel 
come  involved  him  also  in  constant  toils.  In  vain 
would  he  make  iron  rules  by  which  his  hours  of  work 
were  to  be  regulated ;  in  vain  sentinels  posted  them 
selves  to  guard  his  library  door.  When  he  heard  the 
voice  of  friends  without,  his  rules  were  scattered  to  the 
winds,  and  he  had  jumped  up  to  give  a  prompt  welcome. 

TO  JAMES  T.  FIELDS, 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  25,  1864. 
The  new  novel  is  my  first  care,  and  it  goes  on  but  slowly  as 
yet,  owing  to  my  out-door  duties.     It  is  almost  impossible  to  get 


420  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

laborers,  and  I  am  obliged  to  dig,  plant,  and  water  myself,  in 
order  to  be  sure  of  any  increase.  I  have  a  crick  in  my  back 
from  digging,  ten  scratches  and  four  blisters  on  one  hand,  a  burnt 
face,  and  dirty  boots.  I  have  three  hundred  and  sixty-three 
fruit  trees  to  take  care  of,  and  any  quantity  of  onions,  beets,  pars 
nips,  and  celery  to  plant.  We  make  our  own  butter,  lay  our 
own  eggs,  and  have  already  our  own  salad,  radishes,  and  rhu 
barb.  At  night  I  am  generally  so  tired  that  I  can't  accomplish 
more  than  four  or  five  pages  of  MS.  As  for  letters,  I  can  only 
answer  them  by  accident, —  as  to-day,  for  instance,  while  it  rains 
and  nothing  can  be  done  out-of-doors. 

This  novel  bids  fair  to  be  entertaining,  if  not  quite  so  original 
in  design  as  "  Hannah."  I  enjoy  writing  it  quite  as  well,  which 
is  at  least  a  good  sign.  There  is  n't  a  single  "  reformer  "  in  it. 

Good-by  !  There  are  signs  of  the  sky  clearing,  and  I  must  air 
my  hot-beds. 

TO   E.   C.   STEDMAN. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  6,  1864. 

Dick  writes  to  me  that  you  have  been  sick  again.  Now  I 
want  you  to  come  on  and  do  your  convalescing  at  Cedarcroft. 
In  order  that  you  may  feel  perfectly  free  to  come  at  once,  I  will 
frankly  say  that  we  are  short  of  help  in  house  and  garden,  and 
live  in  a  wild,  rough,  hand-to-mouth  way.  We  shall  not  attempt 
to  make  things  better  for  you.  My  out-of-doors  is  so  fine  that 
you  must  be  content  with  daily  pot-luck  in  the  house.  You  will 
get  neither  wine  nor  much  whisky  ("  Woe  !  woe  !  the  whisky  's 
low  !  "),  neither  jilet-aux-cliampignom,  lamb  and  mint,  green 
peas  (until  we  grow  them),  nor  any  of  the  usual  delicacies  of  the 
season  ;  but  usually  a  country  steak  or  cutlet,  ham,  frizzled  hung 
beef,  potatoes,  macaroni,  and  bread  ;  also  young  onions,  raw,  and 
"  poke  "  boiled  for  greens.  My  cigars  are  not  only  "  of  the  pe 
riod,"  but  also  "  of  the  province,  "  —  three  cents  apiece,  and  bit 
ter,  but  tolerable  in  a  high  wind.  You  shall  loaf  as  much  as  you 
like,  for  M.  and  I  have  our  hands  pretty  full,  and  no  time  for 
ceremonious  attention.  But  our  air  is  dry,  pure,  and  full  of 
vitality,  our  trees  old  and  grand,  our  lawn  green,  our  birds  new- 
tuned,  and  we  shall  be  delighted  to  have  you  literally  as  "  one  of 
the  family."  Come,  then,  and  take  a  rest  here  ;  it  will  do  you 
good,  I  know. 

If  you  write  to  me  by  what  train  you  come  (they  leave  Phila- 


NOVEL-WRITING.  421 

delphia,  corner  of  Market  and  Thirty-first  streets,  at  8  A.  M.  and 
4.30  P.  M.),  I  will  meet  you  at  the  station. 

M.  and  I  send  our  kindest  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Stedman. 

TO   T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  11,  1864. 

The  sight  of  your  well-known  "  back-hand  "  on  the  envelope 
told  me  two  pleasant  things, —  that  you  think  of  me  now  and 
then,  and  that  there  is  no  danger  of  your  becoming  Homeric  or 
Miltonic  ;  the  latter,  of  course,  in  the  visual  sense.  I  have  no 
objection  to  your  rivaling  either  as  a  poet,  because  then  I  should 
be  sure  to  be  represented,  three  hundred  years  hence,  in  the  pic 
tures  of  "  Aldrich  and  his  Contemporaries."  We  have  thus  a 
side-chance  for  immortality  in  each  other's  fames. 

For  my  part,  I  suppose  I  have  had  as  much  popularity  as  falls 
to  the  average.  I  don't  expect  ever  to  be  a  classic  proper,  but  I 
want  to  write  clearly,  elegantly,  and  picturesquely.  .  .  . 

I  am  gardening,  managing,  scolding,  and  writing  by  turns. 
You  should  have  added  "  Gardener  "  to  your  list  of  titles.  I  may 
say,  modifying  Marvell,  — 

What  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead  ! 

My  hands  are  full  of  turnip  seed ; 

The  onion  and  the  curious  corn 

Drop  from  my  fingers  every  morn ; 

The  cabbage  and  the  sallow  squash 

Do  force  me  oft  my  hands  to  wash  ; 

I  watch  the  sprouting  of  the  beet, 

The  scarlet  radish  I  do  eat  ; 

And  often  in  my  daily  walk 

Do  pull  the  giant  rhubarb  stalk, 

The  which  my  spouse,  neat-handed,  takes, 

And  in  a  pie  serenely  bakes. 

Cedarcroft  is  superb  just  now  ;  the  country  is  really  like  a 
vision  of  Paradise,  in  its  mixture  of  greenness  and  blossom,  all 
covered  with  a  delicious  purple  haze  of  heat.  Our  great  trouble 
is  the  impossibility  of  getting  labor,  —  hence  my  out-door  occu 
pation.  I  must  literally  plant  in  order  to  have  my  own  table 
supplied,  —  help  can't  be  had  at  any  price.  But  Grant  is  victo 
rious,  and  God  is  over  us,  and  we  rejoice.  I  write  this  in  my 
shirt  -  sleeves,  —  temperature  80°,  and  my  own  melons  and  cu 
cumbers  well  out  of  the  ground.  I  have  lost  ten  pounds  of  flesh, 
and  am  as  brown  as  a  berry.  All  send  their  love  to  you,  and 
hope  to  see  you  here  again. 


422  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   R.    H.    STODDARD. 

CEDARCROFT,  Wednesday,  May  14,  1864. 

I  propose  that  you  come  on  Saturday,  the  28th.  You  will  thus 
have  Sunday  and  the  week  together  here.  I  am  going  via  New 
York  to  my  lectures,  and  will  return  with  you  on  Saturday,  Sun 
day,  or  Monday,  as  you  are  bound  to  do.  The  country  is  just 
now  at  its  loveliest,  and  I  'm  only  afraid  the  new  splendor  of  the 
green  will  be  gone  before  you  can  see  it.  I  'm  delighted  that  you 
are  coming  :  the  rest  and  change  of  air  will  do  you  good.  We 
have  thunder-showers  every  day,  with  intervals  of  summer  heat ; 
but  it 's  just  the  temperature  when  you  don't  have  to  hoe  or  dig. 
I  have  Little  &  Brown's  "British  Poets"  complete  now,  so 
you  '11  have  wherewithal  to  mouse  over.  .  .  . 

TO  JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  May  20,  1864. 

Yours  of  yesterday  is  at  hand.  I  expect  the  package  by  to 
night's  train,  and  will  lose  no  time  in  examining  and  returning. 

I  am  shocked  to  hear,  an  hour  ago,  that  we  have  lost  Haw 
thorne.  Good  God  !  Are  all  the  choice  spirits  leaving  us  ? 
Dear,  good  old  Ticknor,  —  I  don't  think  I  wrote  to  you  how 
much  I  felt  his  sudden  calling  away  ;  how  cordially  I  liked  and 
respected  him,  and  feel  the  edges  of  the  gap  he  has  left  reaching 
even  to  myself.  And  now  his  friend,  and  ours,  and  our  pride,  — 
the  matchless  master  !  What  shall  we  do  without  him  ?  Who 
can  ever  hope  to  fill  his  place  ?  When  such  a  man  dies,  I  feel 
as  if  I  should  like  to  sit  down  in  a  lonely  place,  and  throw  ashes 
upon  my  head. 

You  should  have  had  the  prose  article  before  this,  but  I  have 
somehow  mislaid  the  commencement,  and  am  in  half-despair 
about  it.  Well  begun,  with  me,  is  more  than  half  done,  and  I 
shrink  back  with  dread  from  the  thought  of  re-writing  it.  Then, 
too  much  work  in  the  hot  sun  has  given  me  headaches,  and  I 
have  really  not  felt  in  the  mood  to  make  an  extra  exertion. 
Don't  count  upon  much  more  than  this  article  from  me  before 
September.  I  am  very  glad  that  "  Lake  Ladoga  "  gives  satisfac 
tion.  In  point  of  style,  it  is  one  of  my  best  prose  articles.  I 
want  to  make  the  "  Europe  and  Asia  "  equal  or  superior  to  it, 
so  don't  swear  over  the  delay. 


NOVEL-WRITING.  423 


TO  R.   H.    STODDARD. 

CEDARCROFT,  August  11,  1864. 

Last  night  at  ten  o'clock,  mercury  at  85°,  I  wrote  the  last 
lines  of  "  John  Godfrey."  I  began  about  the  15th  of  March,  and 
in  spite  of  interruptions  and  the  languor  of  this  African  summer 
have  produced  five  hundred  and  ninety-four  pages  of  MS.  (letter 
sheet).  Don't  you  think  I  deserve  a  holiday  ?  To-day  I  loaf 
and  invite  my  soul.  The  mercury  is  95°  hi  the  shade,  and  so  it 
has  been  for  days.  Everything  is  burning  up,  the  wells  are  dry 
ing,  cooking  is  nearly  an  impossible  performance,  and  what  shall 
I  do  ?  I  know  not.  .  .  .  Low  has  gained  his  case  in  London,  so 
the  Canada  dodge  holds,  and  I  shall  probably  have  to  try  it  again 
in  the  fall.  I  want  to  get  £200  for  the  advance  sheets,  and 
copyright.  If  I  do,  or  even  £150,  I  '11  take  you  with  me  to  Ni 
agara,  if  you  '11  go,  old  fellow,  and  we  '11  get  Graham  to  go  with 
us  on  publication  day,  —  about  October  15th. 

We  are  existing  here  as  best  we  can.  There  is  no  hour  of  the 
day  or  night  when  one  can  walk  a  hundred  paces  without  sweat 
ing.  ...  I  have  two  men  digging  a  well  :  three  times  a  day  a 
blast  goes  off  and  shakes  the  house.  They  have  struck  water,  but 
not  enough,  and  it  threatens  to  be  a  frightful  expense  ;  but  with 
out  it  my  stable  can't  go  up. 

Tell  me  how  you  like  "  E.  Arden,"  etc.  I  Ve  been  reading 
Swift,  and  find  that  Hood  took  hints  from  him,  in  comic  poetry. 
Also  Donne  :  did  you  ever  read  his  "  Progress  of  a  Soul "  ?  — 
immensely  queer.  I  want  very  much  to  go  to  Mattapoisett  with 
you  the  end  of  this  month,  but  M.  seems  despondent  about  the 
prospect.  We  have  no  end  of  trouble  in  getting  along  with  our 
kitchen  help  :  we  are,  verily,  the  slaves  of  our  servants.  Either 
they  are  all  bad  and  fraternize,  or  they  are  passably  good  and 
fight.  I  hope  order  will  come  out  of  this  chaos,  and  we  shall  get 
off.  I  don't  want  to  go  without  M.,  for  she  needs  a  holiday 
worse  than  I  do. 

TO  JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  26,  1864. 

Who  wills  may  hear  Bordello's  story  told 
By  Robert  Browning  ;  warm  ?  (you  ask)  or  cold  ? 
But  just  so  much  as  seemeth  to  enhance  — 
The  start  being  granted,  onward  goes  the  dance 
To  its  own  music  — the  poem's  inward  sense ; 
So,  by  its  verity  .  .  .  nay,  no  pretense 


424  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Avails  your  self-created  bards,  and  thus 

By  just  the  chance  of  half  a  hair  to  us, 

If  understood  —  but  what 's  the  odds  to  you, 

Who  with  no  obligation  to  pursue 

Scant  tracks  of  thought,  if  such,  indeed,  there  be 

In  this  one  poem  .  .  .  stay,  my  friend,  and  see 

Whether  you  note  that  creamy  tint  of  flesh 

Softer  than  bivalve  pink,  impearled  and  fresh, 

Just  where  the  small  o'  th'  back  goes  curving  down 

To  the  full  buttock  — ay,  but  that 's  the  crown 

Protos,  incumbered,  cast  before  the  feet 

Of  Grecian  women  ...  ah !  you  hear  me,  sweet ! 

And  so  on,  and  so  on.  ... 

And  now,  my  dear  J.  T.  F.,  I  must  congratulate  you  on  the 
October  "  Atlantic,"  which  is  an  admirable  number.  Whoever 
wrote  "  Communication  "  l  is  a  trump,  if  his  diction  is  modeled 
on  Emerson's  ;  he  knows  what 's  what.  The  political  article 
made  me  swear.  The  fellow  has  stolen  whole  chunks  out  of  my 
new,  unwritten  lecture  ;  what  shall  I  do  ?  The  poem  "  Service  " 
is  refreshing.  Who  wrote  it  ?  2  "  Madame  Recainier  "  is  so-so, 
but  will  interest  "  the  masses."  Are  the  Lamb  articles  yours  ? 
They  're  delightful,  whencever  they  come.3  The  reviews  puzzle 
me, —  such  a  singular  mixture  of  shallowness  and  smartness. 
Whoever  the  man  is,  he  lacks  objective  vision.  He  lets  his  own 
pet  notions  of  the  subjects  of  the  books  stick  out  a  little  too 
plainly  ;  on  the  whole,  he  is  not  the  ideal  critic.  Some  things 

in  the  articles  suggest  ,  and  yet  other  things  in  them  he 

could  not  possibly  write.  Who  is  it  ?  Do  you  tell  ? 

However,  my  main  object  is  to  say  that  my  Russian  article  is 
half  written.  I  am  busy  with  my  "  St.  John,"  and  feel  inclined 
to  "  leave  all  meaner  things." 

I  have  a  poetic  fit  on  me,  but  it  does  n't  run  into  lyrics.  I  shall 
finish  the  prose  sketch  this  week,  and  send  it  to  you.  It  brings 
me  more  bother  than  it  will  value,  and  I  shall  burn  six  wax  can 
dles  before  the  shrine  of  St.  Goethe  when  it 's  off  my  hands. 

.  .  .  My  hands  are  full,  what  with  lectures,  gardening, 
building  a  stable,  governing  my  family,  keeping  the  run  of  poli 
tics,  in  order  to  stump,  if  necessary,  and  reading  the  proofs  of 
"  John  Godfrey's  Fortunes."  It 's  only  by  chance  that  I  have 
an  hour  loose  this  afternoon. 

1  D.  A.  Wasson  was  the  author. 

2  J.  T.  Trowbridge. 

8  Charles  Lamb's  Uncollected  Writings,  by  J.  E.  Babson. 


NOVEL-WRITING.  425 

October  5,  1864. 

Here  you  have  the  article,1  which  I  should  have  sent  three 
days  sooner  but  for  the  visit  of  a  friend  from  Indiana,  who  inter 
rupted  my  writing.  It  is  not  so  good  as  I  could  wish  ;  losing 
the  original  commencement  took  away  all  my  satisfaction  in  the 
work.  It  was  not  written  senza,  exactly,  but  neither  con  the 
proper  amore.  But  perhaps  it  may  help  to  diversify  and  relieve 
your  Gullets  and  Cadmean  madnesses.  I  hope  so. 

I  've  been  thinking  about  the  other  articles,  and  if  the  proper 
vein  can  be  opened  will  try  one.  But  "  John  Godfrey  "has  driven 
me  into  poetry,  and  I  have  been  hammering  away  at  "  St.  John  " 
for  nearly  two  months.  Two  books  are  finished,  —  half  the  poem. 
I  'd  like  to  show  you  parts  of  it,  but  can't  trust  the  MS.  out  of 
my  hands  yet.  It  is  much  the  best  thing  I  've  done,  so  far.  I 
have  also  another  important  project  on  hand,  which  cannot  be 
completed  in  less  than  a  year  or  two,  to  say  nothing  of  plans 
(old  ones)  for  two  additional  novels.  You  shall  have  J.  G.  as 
soon  as  he  can  be  seen  by  anybody.  .  .  . 

TO  MRS.    MARIE   BLOEDE.2 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  11,  1864. 
Many  thanks  for  your  very  welcome  letter  of  the  6th.  I  have 
written  to  Mr.  Butz,  accepting  his  offer  8  in  case  the  publication 
in  Germany  is  assured,  that  being  our  main  object.  The  publi 
cation  of  the  translation  here  is  a  subordinate  matter,  and  I  am 
willing  to  give  it  to  him  only  in  order  that  the  work  may  appear 
in  Germany.  Through  my  English  copyright  I  acquire  also  the 
right  of  German  or  French  translation,  so  that  I  can  secure  the 
copyright  in  either  country.  The  book  will  not  appear  here 
before  November  15th,  on  account  of  the  London  edition  appear 
ing  at  the  same  time,  and  I  must  spend  the  previous  ten  days 
in  Canada,  —  a  great  bore.  I  am  glad  you  are  interested  in 
the  book.  The  interest  of  the  story  properly  commences  after 
wards,  and  increases  towards  the  end. 

1  "Between  Europe  and  Asia." 

2  Mrs.  Bloede  was  half  sister  of  the  poet  Friederich  von  Sallet,  and  wife 
of  Dr.  Gustav  Bloede,  a  physician  and  journalist,  who  was  implicated  in 
the  revolutionary  movement  in  Germany  in  1848,  and  escaped  at  that  time 
to  America.     Mrs.  Bloede  was  herself  a  writer  of  no  mean  ability,  and 
Bayard  Taylor  had  great  respect  for  her  critical  judgment.     She  died  in 
1870. 

8  To  publish  a  translation  of  "  John  Godfrey's  Fortunes  "  in  his  monthly, 
Westliche  MonatsTiefte. 


426  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  have  finished  the  Second  Book  of  my  "  St.  John,"  and  com 
menced  the  Third,  having  written  about  six  hundred  lines  since 
you  were  here.  But  the  poem  will  hardly  be  finished  before  next 
spring.  I  have  also  another  important  literary  task  on  hand,  about 
which  I  wish  to  consult  you  when  we  meet  in  December.  In 
fact,  it  is  perhaps  well  that  I  am  forced  at  present  to  attend  to 
the  building  of  a  stable,  the  preparation  of  a  garden,  and  other 
out-door  matters,  for  I  am  so  fascinated  by  my  poetic  labors 
that  I  should  otherwise  overtask  my  powers.  I  wish,  sometimes, 
that  my  brain  were  less  prolific  in  plans.  I  pick  up  everywhere 
suggestions  of  poems,  novels,  and  works  in  every  branch  of  liter 
ature,  nine  tenths  of  which  must  be  rejected.  .  .  . 

TO   JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  13,  1864. 

The  books l  are  here,  and  they  are  charming  !  My  wife, 
mother,  sister,  and  daughter  pronounce  the  portrait  admirable, 
and  /  am  entirely  satisfied  with  it. 

I  think  I  never  had  so  much  pleasure  in  looking  at  a  book  of 
mine  as  just  this  one.  Each  separate  poem  seems  to  read  better 
than  it  ever  did  before. 

I  '11  try  to  do  another  article  for  you  in  the  course  of  the 
month.  But  I  have  also  a  lecture  to  write  and  a  stable  to  build 
in  the  mean  time.  The  check  came  safely  to  hand,  and  is  already 
cashed.  Many  thanks. 

Please  send  me,  by  mail,  at  once,  Hay  ward's  "  Faust." 

TO  DONALD  G.   MITCHELL. 
TREMONT  HOUSE,  CHICAGO,  November  29,  1864. 
I  have  this  moment  received  and  read  your  very  kind  and 
gratifying  note,  and  reply  at  once,  not  only  to  thank  you  heartily 
for  that  cordial  sympathy  which  an  author  expects  (but  does 
not  always  receive)  from  a  brother  author,  but  also  to  disabuse 
your  mind  of  any  possible   suspicion  that  I  objected   to   your 
notice  of  "  Hannah  Thurston." 

I  read  the  notice  with  pleasure  as  a  candid  criticism;  not  feel 
ing  myself  bound  to  agree  with  it  in  all  points,  but  admitting 
that,  in  one  or  two  instances,  you  had  censured  me  justly.  I 
never  care  to  read  a  notice  which  is  unmitigated  praise,  and  find 
that  I  always  learn  more  from  condemnation  than  from  eulogium. 
l  Copies  of  the  Blue  and  Gold  edition  of  Bayard  Taylor's  Poems. 


NOVEL-WRITING.  427 

Your  notice,  I  felt,  was  honest,  and  that  is  all  I  ask.  Perhaps 
I  now  see  more  faults  in  the  book  than  many  of  my  friends.  It 
was  a  first  attempt  in  a  new  field,  and  I  wrote  under  a  con 
straining  sense  of  experiment  which  was  absent  when  I  wrote 
"John  Godfrey."  My  own  private  opinion  is  that  the  latter 
book  is  much  the  better  literary  performance,  and  I  will  not 
conceal  the  pleasure  it  gives  me  to  receive  your  accordant  judg 
ment,  —  the  very  first  which  I  have  heard. 

Pray  remember  me  very  kindly  to  Mrs.  Mitchell.  My  wife, 
little  girl,  and  myself  will  be  in  New  York  for  the  winter,  at  139 
East  Eighth  Street,  opposite  Clinton  Hall,  and  you  must  let  me 
know  when  you  come  down,  that  we  may  neutralize  each  other's 
country  rust. 

"Bayard  Taylor's  fortieth  birthday,  January  11, 
1865,  was  the  occasion  of  a  frolic  with  his  friends,  who 
prepared  for  it  beforehand,"  writes  Mr.  Stoddard, 
"  each  thinking  what  would  be  most  appropriate  (or 
inappropriate)  to  present  him,  and  all  keeping  their 
own  counsel,  ransacking  invention  for  preposterous 
mementoes.  It  fell  to  my  lot  to  act  as  the  scribe,  and 
...  I  imagined  the  decoration  of  Bayard  Taylor's 
chamber,  the  gathering  of  his  friends,  and  wrote  letters 
of  regret  from  those  who  could  not  be  present,  but  who 
somehow  happened  to  be  present  in  spite  of  their  let 
ters.  The  reading  of  these  missives  and  sundry  copies 
of  verse  and  the  bestowal  of  our  mementoes  provoked 
more  fun  than  had  ever  before,  or  has  ever  since,  dis 
tinguished  our  Taylor  nights.  It  was  not  so  much 
that  they  were  comical  in  themselves  (though  they 
were)  as  that  we  were  willing  to  fool  and  be  fooled  to 
the  top  of  our  bent." 

The  intervals  between  lecture  tours  were  passed 
with  his  family  in  New  York,  and  his  house  was  the 
centre  of  a  most  agreeable  literary  and  artistic  circle. 
Sunday  evenings  Bayard  Taylor  and  his  wife  were  at 
home,  and  he  was  a  welcome  guest  in  many  houses. 


428  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

The  Century  Club  was  a  favorite  resort,  and  the  Travel 
lers,  a  small  club  composed  of  gentlemen  who  had  seen 
much  of  the  world's  surface,  was  a  congenial  society. 
"If  you  intend  coming  to  the  city  soon,"  Bayard  Tay 
lor  writes  to  Mr.  Donald  G.  Mitchell,  "  pray  come  next 
Monday.  A  '  close  corporation,'  called  the  Travellers, 
meets  here  on  that  evening,  and  I,  as  host,  have  the 
right  of  invitation.  Among  the  members  are  Church, 
Bierstadt,  Blodgett,  Cyrus  Field,  Bristed,  Darley, 
Bellows,  Palmer  the  sculptor,  and  Hunt.  We  simply 
talk,  smoke,  and  take  frugal  refreshments,  but  the 
evenings  so  far  have  been  very  pleasant.  I  shall  also 
ask  Curtis  and  Herman  Melville.  Do  pray  come  out 
of  your  solitude  and  the  pleasant  society  of  'Dr. 
Johns  '  for  one  evening."  He  amused  himself  also  with 
a  pretty  diligent  attention  to  his  delightful  diversion  of 
water-color  painting.  His  friends  took  a  lively  interest 
in  this  occupation,  for  the  amateur  artist  was  good- 
natured  in  distributing  his  pictures  as  souvenirs.  He 
did  not  set  an  extravagant  estimate  on  their  value,  but 
they  gave  him  unfailing  pleasure.  They  were  copies, 
for  the  most  part,  of  sketches  which  he  had  made  in 
his  travels,  and  had  thus  a  peculiar  personal  value. 

The  winter  of  1865  saw  the  war  nearing  its  close  ; 
it  saw  also  that  steady  rise  in  prices  which  played 
havoc  with  the  fortunes  of  men  living  on  salaries  or  in 
comes  which  did  not  enjoy  a  corresponding  rise.  The 
following  letter,  written  to  a  friend  who  had  asked  his 
advice  in  a  question  of  publishing,  is  introduced  for  its 
illustration  of  the  business  side  of  an  author's  life :  — 

No.  139  EAST  EIGHTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  February  14,  1865. 

My  engagements  (I  am  still  forced  to  lecture)  have  prevented 
my  immediate  reply  to  your  note.  I  have  often  wished  that 
there  could  be  a  general  understanding  among  American  authors 


NOVEL-WRITING.  429 

in  regard  to  the  value  of  copyright  and  the  amount  of  percent 
age  proper  to  be  paid  by  publishers.  As  it  is,  each  one  must  now 
make  the  best  terms  he  can.  The  publishers  seem  to  consider 
ten  per  cent,  on  the  retail  price  as  a  sort  of  par,  above  which  they 
only  allow  an  author  to  rise  when  he  is  sufficiently  popular  to  en 
force  better  terms.  This,  of  course,  is  considerably  less  than 
half  profits  (in  ordinary  times),  which  ought  to  be  the  standard. 
Mr.  Putnam  estimated  that  twelve  and  one  half  per  cent,  is  about 
equivalent  to  half  profits,  and  Mr.  Irving  and  myself  accepted 
this  estimate,  the  publisher  paying  for  the  plates  and  owning 
them.  Afterwards,  when  Putnam  became  embarrassed,  we  ar 
ranged  to  purchase  the  plates,  and  a  new  contract  was  made,  by 
which  I  received  twenty-five  cents  per  volume,  the  retail  price 
being  $1.50.  Afterwards,  Mr.  P.  thinking  this  too  high,  I  vol 
untarily  reduced  it  to  twenty  cents,  until  last  summer.  In  July 
I  made  a  new  contract,  when  Kurd  &  Houghton  undertook  the 
details  of  publication,  and  the  price  of  the  volumes  was  raised  to 
$1.75.  By  this  contract  I  get  twenty-five  cents  on  each  volume, 
except  "  John  Godfrey,"  for  which  I  receive  thirty  cents,  the  re 
tail  price  being  $2.25.  This  is  an  average  of  about  fourteen  per 
cent.  But  as  I  own  the  plates,  engravings,  etc.,  —  a  dead  capi 
tal  of  about  $8,000,  the  interest  of  which  should  be  deducted 
from  my  receipts,  —  it  is  almost  equivalent  to  the  old  arrange 
ment  of  twelve  and  one  half  per  cent.  You  do  not  state  whether 
you  pay  for  your  own  plates,  which  is  a  point  of  some  impor 
tance.  I  think  the  scale  of  half  profits  is  a  fair  one,  provided  the 
estimate  is  fairly  made.  For  instance,  some  publishers,  I  know, 
take  their  lowest  rate  of  discount  to  the  trade  (forty  per  cent, 
off)  as  the  basis  of  the  calculation,  when  the  usual  rate  is  thirty- 
three  and  one  third  per  cent,  and  when,  moreover,  they  sell  hun 
dreds  or  thousands  of  volumes  at  the  retail  price. 

My  experience  with is  similar  to  your  own.     They 

actually  insist  on  reducing  the  copyright  to  seven  per  cent,  on  the 
retail  price.  This  I  have  not  submitted  to,  although  they  assure 

me  that  L ,  H ,  and  W have  accepted.     I  am  not  of 

the  opinion  that  coffee,  tin,  turpentine,  and  whiskey  should  go  up, 
and  an  author's  copyright  go  down,  at  the  same  time.  I  believe, 
however,  that  publishers  are  earning  less  now  than  formerly,  be 
cause  they  have  so  long  delayed  increasing  the  price  of  books. 
But  that  is  their  business,  and  an  author  should  not  be  made  to 
suffer  for  it. 


430  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

With  regard  to  advertising,  I  have  always  insisted  that  the 
statement  of  the  sale  of  a  volume  should  be  correct,  and  there- 
.fore  returned  in  the  account ;  and  thus  far  I  have  been  paid  ac 
cording  to  the  advertised  number.  I  am  sure  that  a  publisher 
could  be  legally  held  to  pay  the  author  the  copyright  on  the 
number  of  volumes  which  he  advertises  as  having  been  sold. 

We  now  have  to  depend  entirely  on  the  publisher's  returns, 
which  we  cannot  verify  without  seeming  to  doubt  his  honesty.  I 
am  fortunately  situated  in  this  respect,  and  I  believe  you  are,  so 
far  as  Mr.  S—  is  concerned  ;  but  the  plan  is  bad,  for  all  that. 
I  wish  some  arrangement  could  be  devised  by  which  the  author- 
could  have  control  over,  or  at  least  cognizance  of,  the  exact  num 
ber  of  copies  printed  and  bound.  If  we  could  do  this,  and  then 
ascertain  the  exact  percentage  which  represents  the  actual  half 
profit,  our  interests  would  stand  on  a  much  more  satisfactory 
basis.  First  of  all,  there  should  be  a  full  and  free  comparison 
of  experiences  among  authors,  and  to  this  end  I  have  sent  you 
mine.  If  it  is  not  as  complete  as  you  need,  pray  let  me  know. 
I  have  written  hastily,  and  may  have  overlooked  some  points. 

TO   MRS.   JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

NEW  YORK,  March  27,  1865. 

I  send  you  the  first  thing  which  I  can  spare,  —  a  rough  little 
sketch  of  the  Falls  of  Badimanta  (among  the  Cebralian  hills), — 
which  I  hope  may  answer  your  purpose.  Remember,  however, 
that  it  does  n't  in  the  least  invalidate  your  claim  to  a  bigger  and 
better  artistic  (?)  production  from  my  pencil.  The  reason  why 
I  have  delayed  with  the  latter  is  one  which  works  to  your  ad 
vantage  in  the  end,  simply  this  :  that  I  have  been  haunting  the 
studios  this  winter,  picking  up  hints  here  and  there,  and  learning 
how  to  remedy  some  of  my  many  deficiencies.  The  result  is, 
your  picture  is  a  hundred  per  cent,  better  now  than  it  would  have 
been  a  year  ago. 

As  soon  as  April  came  the  family  flitted  back  to 
Cedarcroft,  where  the  summer  life  began  with  the 
marriage  of  Bayard  Taylor's  youngest  sister,  on  the 
eve  of  the  day  when  the  tragedy  of  President  Lincoln's 
assassination  stopped  all  rejoicing,  and  turned  back 
the  lengthening  days  of  hope  into  the  darkest  of 


NOVEL-WRITING.  431 

nights.  The  correspondence  of  Bayard  Taylor  and 
his  friends  at  this  time  recalls  vividly  the  intense  feel 
ing  which  the  event  inspired  and  the  subtle  side- 
current  of  sympathy  and  affection  for  one  of  their  own 
number  who  was  drawn  suddenly  and  terribly  into 
the  tragedy.  As  summer  drew  on  the  sweet  country 
life  seemed  to  throw  a  charm  over  existence.  The 
angry  world  was  shut  out,  friends  gathered  in  the  hos 
pitable  house,  poetry  again  flowed  freely,  and  a  new 
novel,  "  The  Story  of  Kennett,"  was  set  up.  The 
worries  of  farm  work  also  gave  way  before  the  advent 
of  a  trained  superintendent  and  the  colonizing  of  his 
laborers,  and  so  the  place  grew  and  flourished  under 
the  owner's  eye. 

One  of  the  pleasant  episodes  of  the  summer  was  a 
picnic  on  the  Brandywine,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sted- 
man  were  guests  at  Cedarcroft.  It  was  a  perfect  June 
day,  and  the  company  consisted  only  of  the  family  and 
these  two  guests.  A  drive  of  five  or  six  miles  brought 
them  to  an  enchanting  meadow  on  the  banks  of  the 
historic  stream.  Not  a  house  was  in  sight.  The 
Brandywine  rippled  past,  and  curved  around  the  nar 
row  edge  of  the  meadow.  On  one  side  was  the  creek 
and  the  wooded  heights  past  which  it  flowed ;  on  the 
other  groves  of  stately  oaks,  and  the  vista  stretched  for 
a  mile  up  the  stream.  The  party  had  spread  its  feast 
and  was  in  full  enjoyment  of  the  scene,  when  they  saw 
in  the  distance  a  herd  of  cattle  coming  slowly  down 
the  meadow.  It  was  at  least  a  hundred  strong,  and 
seemed  to  be  attracted  by  the  intruders.  Nearer  came 
the  herd,  and  at  last,  halting,  formed  itself  into  a  line 
of  battle,  reaching  from  one  side  of  the  meadow  to  the 
other.  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  this  formidable 
host  was  about  to  charge,  and  the  little  party  began  to 

VOL.    II.  2 


482  3 A  YARD   TAYLOR. 

consider  if  discretion  might  not  be  the  better  part  of 
valor.  The  gentlemen  had  been  wading  in  the  creek, 
with  long  staffs  in  their  hands,  and  a  hurried  council 
of  war  considered  the  expediency  of  their  becoming 
pack  animals  to  carry  the  ladies  across  the  stream  to 
safety  on  the  wooded  heights.  Meanwhile  the  cattle 
also  seemed  to  have  been  taking  council,  and  an  ad 
vance  party  of  eighteen  or  twenty  moved  forward  for 
a  reconnaissance.  It  was  a  slight  sign  of  weakness  or 
conciliation,  and  the  two  poets  were  suddenly  inspired 
with  daring  and  fun.  Mr.  Stedman,  in  great  glee, 
flung  himself  upon  the  back  of  a  fine,  short-horned 
steer,  and  Bayard  Taylor,  like  a  sacrificial  priest,  took 
hold  of  one  of  the  horns,  and  swinging  his  staff  led  the 
astonished  animal  and  his  rider  about  in  triumphal  pro 
cession.  It  is  to  this  that  he  refers  in  his  sonnet  to 
EJ.  C.  S.,  at  Christmas,  in  the  same  year :  — 

When  days  were  long,  and  o'er  that  farm  of  mine, 

Green  Cedarcroft,  the  summer  breezes  blew, 

And  from  the  walnut  shadows  I  and  you, 

Dear  Edmund,  saw  the  red  lawn-roses  shine, 

Or  followed  our  idyllic  Brandywine 

Through  meadows  flecked  with  many  a  flowery  hue, 

To  where  with  wild  Arcadian  pomp  I  drew 

Your  Bacchic  march  among  the  startled  kine, 

You  gave  me,  linked  with  old  Mseonides, 

Your  loving  sonnet,1  —  record  dear  and  true 

Of  days  as  dear  :   and  now,  when  suns  are  brief, 

And  Christmas  snows  are  on  the  naked  trees, 

I  give  you  this,  —  a  withered  winter  leaf, 

Yet  with  your  blossom  from  one  root  it  grew. 

1  See  Mr.  Stedman's  sonnet,  "To  Bayard  Taylor,  with  a  Copy  of  the 
Iliad." 


NOVEL-WRITING.  433 


TO  JERVIS  MCENTEE. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  June  3,  1865. 

I  was  very  glad  to  get  your  letter  from  Rondout,  and  felt,  per 
haps,  a  little  unchristian  pleasure  on  learning  that  artists,  as  well 
as  authors,  have  their  petty  daily  household  jobs  to  interfere  with 
the  work  of  hand  and  brain.  Such  have  I,  and  I  never  shall  get 
used  to  them.  Habit  does  not  soften  their  asperity,  and  it  re 
quires  a  forty-horse-power  sense  of  duty  to  discharge  them.  If 
our  food  would  only  cook  itself,  our  rooms  do  their  own  sweep 
ing,  and  our  gardens  bring  forth  prime  vegetables  without  weeds, 
what  fine  lives  we  should  lead  ! 

At  present  I  pay  enormous  sums  to  get  about  half  the  work 
done  which  needs  to  be  done.  A  "  country-place  "  is  no  economy, 
but  it  is  a  vast  delight.  The  gardening  this  year  satisfies  us  tol 
erably.  We  have  had  cucumbers  for  six  weeks  past,  and  to-day 
pull  our  first  peas.  Cantaloupes  are  in  blossom,  ditto  tomatoes, 
and  cherries  are  ripe.  The  country  here  never  was  lovelier,  and 
the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  come  down  to  us  for  a  week  or 
two.  We  will  try  to  see  you  at  Rondout  some  time  this  summer, 
but  cannot  possibly  leave  home  this  month. 

I  was  in  Washington  to  see  the  grand  reviews,  which  were 
grand.  The  day  after  my  return,  Launt  Thompson  called  here 
on  his  way  back  to  New  York,  and  I  persuaded  him  to  stay  two 
days  with  me.  On  Monday  came  Stedman  and  wife,  and  re 
mained  until  this  morning.  Yesterday  was  my  wife's  birthday, 
and  we  had  a  picnic  on  the  banks  of  the  Brandywine.  You 
should  have  seen  us  mounted  on  grazing  oxen  and  riding  over 
the  meadows,  or  wading  the  swift  stream  in  water  to  the  knees. 
We  all  wished  for  your  presence.  Stedman  agreed  with  me  that 
the  scenery  just  suits  your  pencil.  For  the  past  six  days  the 
country  is  wrapped  in  a  wonderful  pale-blue  haze,  which  makes 
the  commonest  landscape  seem  Arcadian.  Your  not  coming  this 
spring  is  a  great  disappointment  to  all  of  us,  and  we  insist  upon 
having  you  before  we  all  go  back  to  New  York  for  the  winter. 
September  is  a  pleasant  month  here,  and  will  be  especially  so  this 
year  on  account  of  our  large  crop  of  peaches. 

We  have  been  buried  in  roses  for  a  week  past,  alld  the  atmos 
phere  for  a  hundred  yards  round  about  the  house  is  tinctured 
with  the  fragrance  thereof.  It  is  just  the  season  for  a  sleepy,  epi 
curean,  loafing  spell.  Why  can't  you  come  and  try  it  ?  .  .  . 


434  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  have  commenced  another  novel,  but  am  not  yet  through  with 
the  first  chapter.  This  will  claim  me  at  home,  for  I  cannot  write 
elsewhere  until  after  a  residence  of  a  week  or  two.  If  we  come 
to  Rondout  I  will  only  bring  a  sketch-book  and  water-colors.  My 
wife  sends  best  love,  and  repeats  with  me  the  old  invitation, 
which  we  by  no  means  intend  to  let  drop,  in  spite  of  our  bad  luck 
so  far. 

I  must  now  close  to  catch  this  afternoon's  mail.  Pray  send  us 
your  cartes,  if  you  have  'em.  At  any  rate,  let  me  hear  from  you 
whenever  those  hands  are  not  too  much  "  bunged  "  with  hoeing. 
I  promise  to  respond  as  promptly  as  could  be  expected  from  one 
of  our  profession. 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNKTT  SQUARE,  PA.,  June  16,  1865. 

The  wind  was  blowing  from  nothe-e&st,  direct  from  Schooley's 
Mountain,  when  I  opened  your  letterful  of  pure  oxygen  into  our 
opulent,  indolent,  summer  atmosphere.  I  finished  an  article  for 
the  "  Atlantic  "  that  day.  As  if  I  were  not  "  a  tool  of  the  ele 
ments  "  !  "  And  how  ?  "  as  the  Germans  say.  (Americanice, 
"  You  'd  better  believe  it ! ")  Why,  I  am  physically  so  condemna- 
bly  thin-skinned  that  my  cerebral  productivity  depends  entirely  on 
certain  delicate  conditions  of  the  surface-nerves.  The  touch  of 
dry  sand  or  earth  makes  me  shudder  with  horror  ;  the  smell  of 
wild  grape-blossoms  inebriates  me  with  an  unspeakable  sense  of 
luxury  ;  to  feel  velvet  under  my  bare  soles  is  a  heavenly  delight. 
So  of  the  winds,  clouds,  and  all  other  elemental  influences.  I 
have  steadfastly  turned  my  face  away  from  the  expression  of  sen 
sation,  because  it  is  my  strong  (i.  e.,  weak)  point.  What  your 
lungs  are  to  you  the  skin  of  my  whole  body  is  to  me.  The  ani 
mal  (not  always  in  the  grosser  sense)  and  the  spiritual  renew 
their  battle  in  me  every  morning.  They  are  so  evenly  balanced 
that  the  strife  is  never  decided.  Health  has  its  inconveniences 
as  well  as  disease  ;  sometimes  I  am  in  doubt  which  is  best. 

Would  that  we  could  go  up  into  an  high  mountain  apart  and 
drink  the  milk-punch  of  human  kindness  with  you  !  But  much 
I  fear  me  that  it  is  not  to  be.  If  we  go  to  Cape  May  in  August 
we  must  stay  «t  home  meanwhile,  —  I  to  write  and  inspect  my 
cauliflowers,  and  M.  to  get  ahead  of  the  German  printers.  More 
over,  we  have  just  rigged  up  my  tenant  house,  and  installed  an 
old  woman  therein,  who  boardeth  the  male  retainers,  and  who 


NOVEL-WRITING.  435 

still  needeth  our  counsel  and  assistance  in  this  (for  the  country) 
unusual  arrangement.  Half  the  household  bother  is  thus  trans 
ferred  from  M.'s  shoulders  to  those  of  the  said  old  woman,  and  a 
new  content  descends  upon  Cedarcroft.  Garrison  and  George 
Thompson  spent  Sunday  afternoon  with  us,  —  both  agreeable 
gentlemen,  in  spite  of  the  "  World  "  and  Copperheads.  The  an 
nual  meeting  of  the  Progressives  was  very  funny.  G.  and  G.  T. 
spoke  admirable  sense,  but  most  of  the  others  belched  out  bosh 
and  rant.  Some  of  them  attacked  me  virulently  a  propos  of 
"  Hannah  Thurston,"  so  on  Sunday  morning  I  went  over  and 
gave  them  a  blast  in  return.  I  was  sweetly  cool  and  composed, 
and  stirred  them  up  with  pleasant  irony.  Such  a  writhing  and 
groaning  and  howling  as  followed  !  It  was  like  sticking  a  pole 
into  a  cage  of  animals.  G.  T.  was  immensely  diverted  ;  he 
whispered  to  me  afterwards  that  he  had  never  heard  anything 
better.  The  meeting  adjourned  in  haste  to  prevent  a  row.  This 
thing  has  given  me  a  little  popularity,  even  among  the  reform 
ers,  —  the  first  I  have  ever  received  at  home.  I  like  to  make 
studies  in  corpore  vili,  and  this  has  been  a  good  one. 

By  the  bye,  you  came  near  losing  a  friend  ten  days  ago,  and 
in  the  most  singular  way  ;  for  I  never  yet  heard  of  a*  man  being 
killed  by  his  brother's  tombstone.  The  monument  for  poor  Fred 
came  out  from  Philadelphia,  and  I  summoned  fifteen  or  twenty 
of  his  old  soldiers  to  help  transport  it  to  the  cemetery.  At  the 
station  three  or  four  of  us  were  engaged  in  turning  over  the  lar 
gest  block,  weighing  perhaps  1,500  pounds,  when  the  platform 
broke  under  the  weight,  and  three  of  us  went  down  in  a  heap 
upon  the  railroad  track,  eight  or  ten  feet  below.  I  was  in  front 
of  the  block.  How  I  escaped  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  found  myself 
after  a  moment  of  bewilderment  standing  on  the  track,  with  torn 
trousers,  bleeding  knees,  and  various  contusions  about  the  body. 
One  other  man  was  slightly  bruised.  .  .  . 

Tell  L.  that  my  sketch  of  the  Brandywine  meadows  has  suc 
ceeded  admirably.  She  shall  see  it  next  winter. 

Now,  why  won't  you  send  me  now  and  then  a  MS.  poem  as 
you  write  it  ?  I  like  that  sort  of  literary  interchange.  The  old 
fellows  used  to  do  it,  and  they  were  right.  Don't  let  us  of  our 
generation  be  so  incorrigibly  glued  to  our  own  bottoms,  but  be 
upper  and  nether  millstones  to  each  other. 

Well,  this  is  enough  for  one  day.  It  is  cloudy,  the  house  is 
still,  the  seclusion  wraps  me  about  like  a  mantle,  and  I  am  i'  the 


436  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

vein  for  a  talk  with  a  friend.  Though  reading  may  be  no  pul 
monary  strain  upon  you,  I  remember  in  time  that  you  have  a 
semi-fear  of  my  vitality,  and  know  not  how  much  of  it  I  may 
have  pitched  upon  these  leaves. 

M.  sends  love  to  you  and  L.  ;  so  does  all  Cedarcroft,  in  fact, 
including  Jack,  Picket,  and  the  blind  mare.  Do  write  again  ; 
you  have  now  nothing  else  to  do. 

TO  JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  June  17,  1865. 
I  am  glad  to  find,  from  your  welcome  letter,  that  there  are  so 
many  points  of  sympathy  between  us.  Your  honest  confessions 
are  just  such  as  I  continually  make  to  myself,  and  sometimes  to 
others.  I  don't  think  the  artist  nature  incapable  of  attending 
to  any  of  the  practical  details  of  life,  —  on  the  contrary,  I  think 
an  artist  or  author  might  always  be  a  superior  business  man 
if  he  chose,  as  the  greater  always  includes  the  less,  —  but  the 
search  for  beauty  brings  a  distaste  for  everything  material  and 
mechanical.  I  have  recently  been  occupied  in  cleaning  and 
fitting  up  a  tenant  house  (that  is,  directing,  not  doing  the  dirty 
work  myself)  for  an  old  woman,  who  now  boards  all  my  male  re 
tainers,  and  so  takes  a  vast  deal  of  work  and  worry  out  of  my 
own  house  and  off  my  wife's  shoulders.  A  very  happy  change, 
now  that  it  is  accomplished,  but  how  irksome  while  under 
way  !  Little  by  little  I  hope  so  to  organize  the  operations  here 
that  I  shall  be  left  tolerably  free  to  nay  own  devices.  I  enjoy 
the  quiet  and  seclusion  of  this  lovely  pastoral  region  ;  my  mind 
works  easily  and  pleasantly  here,  and  there  are  no  serious  draw 
backs  except  the  possibility  of  being  called  from  my  sanctum  at 
any  moment,  to  have  the  coal-bin  replenished,  or  to  select  trees  to 
be  felled  for  firewood,  or  to  decide  whether  potatoes  or  corn  first 
need  attention,  or  to  pay  the  butcher,  or  to  drive  the  pigs  out  of 
the  cabbages,  or  to  nail  a  pale  on  the  chicken-yard,  or  to  blow  up 
a  lazy  darkey  for  being  slack  in  his  hoeing.  I  can  sit  at  my 
table,  as  I  do  now,  with  the  windows  open  before  me,  and  look 
out  on  the  sloping,  cedared  lawn,  the  immense  oaks  on  either 
side,  the  blossoming  magnolias  and  the  geranium-beds  ;  and  all 
that  I  see  harmonizes  with  the  productive  mood,  — gently  stim 
ulates  and  refreshes  me  at  my  work.  The  wind  in  the  leaves 
makes  a  soft,  mellow  accompaniment  to  the  scratching  of  my 
pen,  and  the  distant  forms  and  tints  of  the  clouds  excite  my  im- 


NOVEL-WRITING.  437 

agination.  Perhaps  this  end  of  the  scale  would  go  too  high,  and 
kick  a  beam  somewhere  out  of  sight,  but  for  the  hard,  common 
place  duties  which  balance  it.  I  guess  "  things  "  are  about  right, 
after  all.  When  I  compare  my  life  with  that  of  my  neighbors 
round  about,  I  am  very  well  satisfied.  I  am  veritably  richer 
than  our  two  or  three  semi-millionaires,  because,  although  I  save 
less,  I  spend  more,  and  have  no  anxiety  from  precarious  invest 
ments.  Besides,  I  am  insensible  to  the  gossip  and  the  narrow 
prejudices  of  a  country  community,  and  make  fun  out  of  every 
thing  intended  to  annoy  me.  By  following  this  course  I  have 
not  only  secured  my  independence,  but  also  a  certain  amount  of 
respect. 

My  pen  has  run  on,  unconsciously,  until  the  sight  of  this  fourth 
page  warns  me  not  to  bore  you.  We  are  all  in  good  spirits,  now 
that  our  household  is  so  arranged  that  we  can  receive  a  friend  or 
friends  at  any  time.  We  do  not  yet  give  up  the  hope  of  seeing 
you  here  before  the  winter.  If  you  can't  come  for  one  week, 
can't  you  for  three  ?  I  '11  give  you  a  studio,  and  you  can  paint  as 
much  as  you  like.  Besides,  I  '11  order  a  small  picture,  if  that 
will  be  any  inducement.  M.  and  I  want  to  have  our  place  en 
riched  by  the  presence  of  all  our  friends,  and  your  presences 
have  been  sorely  lacking  to  us.  ... 

We  have  green  tomatoes  and  cantaloupes  on  our  vines,  and  the 
Latakia  tobacco  (the  only  plants  in  the  United  States)  are  com 
ing  into  blossom. 

The  reference  at  the  close  of  this  letter  is  to  a  cu 
rious  contribution  to  American  crops  which  Bayard 
Taylor  made  from  his  traveling  experience.  The  La 
takia  tobacco  is  indigenous  to  Egypt,  where  he  had 
known  its  agreeable  qualities.  A  friend  had  brought 
some  seed  from  Egypt,  and  the  experiment  was  made 
of  raising  plants  from  it  at  Cedarcroft.  The  re 
sult  was  so  successful  that  the  poet  entered  into  ar 
rangements  with  a  seedsman,  who  sold  the  seed  with 
profit.  At  Nijni  Novgorod,  also,  a  melon  from  the 
Caspian  had  so  pleased  Bayard  Taylor  and  his  wife 
that  they  saved  the  seed,  planted  it  at  Cedarcroft, 
mixed  it  with  the  variety  of  Mountain  Sweet,  and  pro- 


438  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

duced  a  new  and  very  fine  watermelon,  the  seed  of 
which  they  also  made  popular. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  July  19,  1865. 

...  I  am  very  jolly  these  days.  The  "  Tribune  "  declared  a 
dividend  of  8500  a  share,  besides  laying  aside  a  surplus  of 
$60,000.  This  gives  me  $2,500  where  I  expected  only  $500  ; 
and  from  Putnam  I  get  for  three  months'  copyright  $520,  where 
my  estimate  (on  account  of  the  dull  trade)  was  only  $250. 
Moreover,  Fields  has  just  sent  me  checks  of  $200  for  a  singular 
story  called  "  Beauty  and  the  Beast,"  $100  for  a  paper  on  the 
"Author  of  <  Saul,'  "  and  $50  for  a  poem,  "  The  Sleeper."  (I  '11 
send  you  the  last  with  this,  if  I  can  find  time  to  copy  it.)  Thus 
I  am  unexpectedly  rich,  and  the  fact  so  stimulates  my  mental 
activity  that  I  am  writing  every  day,  both  on  my  novel  and  the 
"  St.  John."  Prose  by  daylight,  and  poetry  by  night !  —  a  new 
tandem,  which  I  never  drove  before,  but  it  goes  smoothly  and 
well.  Freedom  from  pecuniary  anxiety  gives  my  brain  a  genial 
glow,  a  nimble  ease,  a  procreative  power,  which  I  never  feel  at 
other  times.  I  sing  better  after  the  thorn  is  pulled  out  of  my 
breast.  Nature  designed  some  men  to  be  rich,  —  you  and  me,  for 
instance.  Nothing  but  the  accident  of  ill-health  has  prevented 
you  from  paying  an  income-tax  of  $1,000  a  year.  .  .  . 

...  I  quite  agree  with  what  you  say  of  Niagara.  I  have  been 
there  a  dozen  times,  and  know  every  phase  of  the  creature  ;  yet 
"  awe "  is  an  emotion  I  never  felt.  I  was  never  overpowered 
and  crushed  —  neither  was  ever  any  sensible  person  —  by  the 
plunge  and  roar  ;  but  I  reveled  in  the  endless  motion,  the  blos 
soming  spray,  and  the  splendid  emerald  along  the  curving  brink. 
The  fall  fascinated  me,  but  did  n't  overwhelm  me  in  any  sense. 
The  ocean  has  ten  bushels  of  mystery  and  suggestiveness  where 
the  fall  has  a  quart.  Still,  the  latter  is  a  wonderful  thing,  and 
I  like  it. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  PICTURE   OF   ST.   JOHN. 

1865-1867. 

The  sober  hermit  I, 

Whose  evening  songs  but  few  approach  to  hear,  — 
Who,  if  those  few  should  cease  to  lend  an  ear, 
Would  sing  them  to  the  forest  and  the  sky 
Contented  :  singing  for  myself  alone. 

The  Poet's  Journal. 

THE  field  of  profitable  work  which  his  novels  had 
opened  gave  Bayard  Taylor  hope  that  he  could  relin 
quish  lecturing  except  in  places  so  near  to  New  York 
as  to  rid  the  labor  of  its  greatest  evil.  He  hailed  the 
prospect  of  this  freedom  with  rejoicing  as  holding  out 
the  promise  of  greater  leisure  of  mind  and  body  for 
the  writing  of  poetry.  "The  Picture  of  St.  John" 
had  now  come  to  absorb  his  thought.  At  first  working 
at  it  alternately  with  the  "  Story  of  Kennett,"  he  be 
came  so  fascinated  by  the  poem  that  he  pushed  aside 
his  novel,  and  everything  else  which  stood  in  the  way, 
and  abandoned  himself  to  the  luxury  of  composition. 

TO   T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

CEDARCKOFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  16,  1865. 
...  I  have  been  hard  at  work  this  summer,  my  "  St.  John  " 
having  suddenly  "  hopped  up  revived  "  (in  the  classical  phrase  of 
Olympus  Pump),  and  demanded  to  be  written.  So  I  wrote  : 
and  behold  !  the  Third  Book  is  finished,  and  I  commence  the 
Fourth  and  Last  to-night.  Moreover,  I  have  written  for  the 
"Atlantic"  a  poem  ("The  Sleeper"),  —  not  a  reminiscence  of 
the  N.  Y.  and  N.  H.  R.  R.  !  —  a  critical  paper  ("  The  Author  of 


440  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

1  Saul '  "),  and  a  long  and  very  queer  Russian  story  ("  Beauty 
and  the  Beast "),  all  of  which  you  will  find  in  the  coming  num 
bers.  I  shall  look  out  expectantly  for  your  sonnet.  My  novel 
has  only  advanced  to  the  second  chapter,  but  "  St.  John  "  has 
precedence  over  all  other  guests  of  the  brain.  He  is  my  private 
luxury,  —  from  head  to  tail  of  my  own  solitary  begetting,  —  and 
I  drop  everything  when  he  comes.  The  poem  is  one  of  the  great 
delights  of  my  life,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  care  a  D.  whether  or  not 
it  is  popular.  It  is  mine  :  that 's  enough.  I  shall  have  it  finished, 
the  Lord  willing,  in  another  month.  My  lecturing  this  year  will 
be  done  in  October  and  November,  and  I  shall  have  the  winter 
free  in  New  York.  Then  we  can  consult,  and  revise,  and  pre 
pare.  I  congratulate  you  on  your  most  agreeable  summer  pro 
gramme.  If  it  were  not  that  I  shall  be  absent,  I  should  insist 
on  your  spending  your  October  in  Cedarcroft.  But  I  must  be 
away  then,  —  just  our  loveliest  season,  —  in  order  that  I  may 
have  a  full,  free  winter  in  New  York,  for  the  first  time  since 
1851.  I  have  recently  been  summing  up  my  labors  for  the  last 
seven  years,  and  they  are  almost  incredible.  I  need  and  must 
have  rest,  and  will  have  complete  rest  of  mind  and  body  as  soon 
as  "  St.  John  "  and  the  novel  are  finished. 

"The  Author  of  '  Saul,'"  referred  to  in  the  last  let 
ter,  is  the  title  of  a  biographical  and  critical  paper 
which  Bayard  Taylor  contributed  to  the  "Atlantic 
Monthly,  "  with  a  view  to  directing  attention  to  the 
drama  of  "  Saul,"  which  had  been  published  anony 
mously  at  Montreal,  and  had  not  yet  received  the  pub 
lic  recognition  which  he  conceived  was  its  due.  His 
article  was  influential  in  leading  to  its  re-issue  in  the 
United  States,  and  Mr.  Charles  Heavysege,  the  au 
thor  of  the  drama,  wrote  to  his  sympathetic  reviewer, 
"  Your  good  opinion  and  that  of  several  of  your  most 
eminently  gifted  countrymen  goes  far  to  repay  me  for 
that  deferring  of  hope  which  to  the  strongest  of  us  is 
apt  to  make  the  heart  sick.  Your  qualified  yet  gen 
erous  commendation  is  more  grateful  to  me  and  more 
highly  valued  than  would  be  a  loud  and  general  huzza 


THE  PICTURE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  441 

proceeding  from  a  vulgar  popular  vanity,  or  any  pre 
mature  outburst  of  ignorant  admiration  and  applause." 

TO   GEORGE    H.  BOKER. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  21,  1865. 
...  I  am  working  hard  at  my  "  St.  John,"  and  if  I  were  sure 
of  three  weeks  without  any  "  worry  "  (of  the  low,  sneaking,  ma 
terial  sort)  would  see  the  end.  I  am  now  writing  on  the  Fourth 
and  Last  Book.  The  subject  possesses  me  most  vitally,  and  what 
I  have  done  this  summer  is  not  the  worst  part  of  the  poem.  It 
will  make  about  3,200  lines,  of  which  I  have  written  some  2,600 
already.  I  am  now  impatient  to  finish,  as  further  delay  will  not 
improve  the  work,  but  rather  the  contrary.  I  feel  the  first  wave 
of  a  current  which  may  drift  me  away  from  the  poetical  stage 
which  this  poem  represents.  When  I  close  it,  I  stand  squarely 
upon  tolerably  matured  powers,  with  all  tasks  finished,  and  a 
clear,  fresh  field  before  me.  Do  you  feel  these  transitions  ? 
This  is  my  third,  and  in  all  probability  the  last.  But  come,  and 
we  will  regulate  all  things  in  our  talk. 

CEDARCROFT,  Sunday,  August  27,  1865. 

To-day  I  have  finished  my  "  St.  John  "  !  That  you  may  know 
the  bulk  of  this  poem,  conceived  fifteen  years  ago,  but  chiefly 
written  since  March,  1863,  let  me  give  you  this  material  state 
ment  :  Book  I.,  The  Artist,  98  stanzas  ;  Book  II.,  The  Woman, 
103  stanzas  ;  Book  III.,  The  Child,  102  stanzas  ;  Book  IV.,  The 
Picture,  94  stanzas.  Total,  397  stanzas,  or  3,176  lines  !  You 
have  seen  (and  may  or  may  not  remember  something  of)  Book 
I.  I  can  only  say  that  Book  II.  is  better  than  I.,  III.  better 
than  II.,  and  IV.  better  than  III.  Of  the  poem  as  a  whole  you 
must  judge  when  you  come  out,  which  I  hope  will  be  within  the 
next  ten  days.  Graham  does  not  write  to  me  very  positively 
about  coming,  but  I  shall  send  him  another  missive  to-morrow 
morning,  of  a  more  threatening  and  persuasive  character.  Now 
that  I  have  done  my  task  I  am  impatient  to  have  a  poet's  im 
pression.  The  thing  is  mine,  mine  alone,  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  will  either  make  or  unmake  forever  my  title  of  poet.  I  am 
possessed,  mastered  by  it ;  and  the  impetus  which  carried  me  so 
swiftly  to  the  end  still  drives  me,  though  now  towards  no  end. 
I  am  at  the  same  time  exhausted,  and  unable  to  rest. 

We  have  lovely  weather,  and  Cedarcroft  was  never  more  en- 


442  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

joyable.  I  really  must  see  you  here  before  I  go  westward  ;  I 
shall  insist  on  Graham  coming  by  the  end  of  this  week,  and  will 
duly  inform  you,  so  that  you  may  come  with  him  :  though  I  hope 
that  your  movements  will  not  wait  upon  his,  but  that  you  will 
come  in  any  case. 

My  mood  is  a  reflection  from  our  old  days  of  '49  and  '50.  Do 
you  remember  those  days  ? 

The  concentration  of  mind  which  saw  the  comple 
tion  of  "  The  Picture  of  St.  John"  obtains  expression 
in  these  almost  overwrought  words.  A  more  definite 
record  of  the  mood  in  which  he  found  himself  when 
the  last  line  was  written  appears  in  a  note  appended 
to  the  first  draft  of  the  poem,  and  bearing  the  same 
date  as  the  last  quoted  letter  to  Mr.  Boker  :  — 

"Cedarcroft,  August  27,  1865.  Sunday,  12.30  p.  M. 
I  commenced  '  The  Picture  of  St.  John '  in  June, 
1850,  with  no  very  clear  conception,  and  no  more  se 
rious  purpose  than  to  write  a  narrative  poem  of  love 
and  sorrow,  with  an  artist  as  the  hero.  Its  only  re 
lation  to  art,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recall  my  idea,  was 
this  :  that  the  artist  should  seek  his  subject  in  nature, 
and  in  his  own  experience  of  life.  The  picture  of  the 
young  St.  John,  painted  from  his  child,  was  to  be 
the  basis  of  his  fame  and  success.  My  conception  of 
the  poem  was  wholly  and  intensely  subjective.  Some 
providential  instinct  held  me  from  writing  more  than 
twenty-two  stanzas,  and  even  when,  in  1854,  I  recom 
menced,  a  vague  feeling  that  the  theme  contained  ma 
terial  which  I  was  not  mature  enough  to  use  made  me 
desist.  But  I  never  gave  up  the  idea  of  completing 
the  poem  at  some  future  time.  I  carried  this  book 
with  me,  everywhere,  upon  my  travels,  —  to  Sweden, 
Germany,  Italy,  Greece ;  to  Germany  again ;  even 
upon  lecturing  tours  through  our  Western  States,  — 
but  never  seriously  took  up  the  pen  until  after  com- 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  443 

pleting  '  Hannah  Thurston,'  in  St.  Petersburg,  about 
the  end  of  March,  1863  :  and  feeling  the  urgent  need 
of  some  further  creative  exercise  of  what  faculties  I 
have,  I  resumed  this  poem  rather  as  an  experiment. 
I  soon  discovered,  by  the  new  and  more  important 
shape  which  it  assumed  in  my  mind,  that  the  time  had 
come  when,  if  ever,  it  should  be  written.  Since  then, 
for  nearly  two  years  and  a  half,  it  has  been  constantly 
present  to  my  imagination;  and,  with  little  variation 
from  the  original  outline  of  the  story,  the  whole  char 
acter  and  purpose  of  the  poem  has  changed.  Such  as 
it  now  is,  it  has  grown  naturally  through  the  growth 
of  my  own  mind.  Whatever  faults  or  merits  the  poem 
may  have,  it  is  my  own,  unsuggested  by  any  circum 
stance,  and  uninfluenced  by  any  creation  of  others. 
It  closes  the  second  stage  of  my  development  as  a 
poet,  and  is  already  colored,  towards  the  end,  by  the 
growth  of  what  I  feel  to  be  a  new  (and  probably  the 
last)  stage  of  my  poetic  faculty.  I  have  written  only 
as  the  desire  and  the  need  impelled  me,  —  never  as  a 
task,  but  always  as  a  vital  joy.  Whatever  verdict  may 
be  pronounced  upon  it,  I  feel  and  know  that  it  is  be 
yond  all  comparison  the  one  good  thing  which  I  have 
produced.  I  lay  down  the  pen  with  sorrow,  but  the 
end  is  reached  and  I  dare  not  go  beyond  it." 

The  poem  was  laid  aside  to  wait  for  a  final  revision 
before  printing,  and  work  resumed  on  the  novel.  A 
proposition  had  been  made  and  accepted  by  which 
Bayard  Taylor  was  to  give  a  series  of  lectures  at  the 
West,  under  charge  of  a  business  firm,  to  be  free  from 
all  responsibility  and  risk,  and  receive  a  fixed  sum  for 
the  course.  As  the  following  letter  will  show,  the  ar 
rangement  fell  through,  and  he  returned  to  his  old 
method  for  a  while  in  the  fall,  before  settling  in  New 


444  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

York  for  the  winter.  The  reference  to  an  outing  is 
to  a  journey  which  Bayard  Taylor  and  his  wife  took 
in  August,  to  the  northward,  in  the  course  of  which 
they  visited  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McEntee  at  Eondout. 

TO   JERVIS   MCENTEE. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  30,  1865. 

I  intended  to  have  reported  to  you  long  before  tin's,  seeing 
that  we  reached  home  on  the  15th  ;  but  you  will  understand  my 
delay,  and  pardon  it  at  once,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  been 
possessed,  soul  and  body,  with  my  poem.  And  now  —  just  fif 
teen  years  after  I  wrote  the  first  stanza  —  the  work  is  done  — 
DONE  !  I  have  been  almost  crazy  over  it,  —  unable  to  drop  the 
pen,  —  and  in  these  fifteen  days  since  my  return  have  written  a 
thousand  lines.  My  "  Picture  of  St.  John  "  is  painted  at  last,  — 
a  large  canvas,  but  with  few  figures,  —  completely  painted,  in  all 
its  parts,  and  only  lacks  the  final  varnishing.  I  am  now  plunged 
in  a  mingled  sensation  of  delight,  relief,  and  regret,  which  you, 
an  artist,  will  not  require  me  to  explain.  This  poem  is  the  one 
good  thing  I  have  done  ;  but  I  care  very  little  whether  the  pub 
lic  will  think  so,  or  not,  when  it  is  published.  I  have  written  it 
for  myself,  and  a  few  others,  of  whom  you  are  one.  It  gives  the 
inner  life  of  an  artist,  and  his  growth,  with  all  the  power  of 
poetry  which  I  possess,  and  is,  so  far,  a  new  thing  hi  literature*. 

Now  I  must  buckle  to  work  on  my  new  novel,  and  when  that 
is  finished  I  shall  consider  myself  entitled  to  a  year's  rest,  at 
least.  I  shall  have  much  more  time  than  I  anticipated,  for  the 
beautiful  arrangement  for  lecturing  in  the  West  (of  which  I  be 
lieve  I  told  you)  has  fallen  to  pieces.  I  learned  yesterday  that 
the  parties  with  whom  I  made  the  contract  are  bankrupt,  and 
so  the  delightful  sum  of  four  thousand  dollars  upon  which  I 
counted  does  not  and  will  not  exist.  My  new  barn  and  out 
buildings,  and  various  other  improvements,  thus  tumble  down 
before  they  are  built  ;  but  I  am  jolly,  for  all  that.  It  is  the 
height  of  folly  to  blubber  over  what  can't  be  helped  :  life  is  too 
precious  for  unavailing  lamentation.  We  have  already  sketched 
a  simpler  programme  for  the  fall  and  winter,  —  or,  rather,  re 
turned  to  the  old  plan,  before  the  flattering  offer  was  made  and 
accepted.  We  live  on  the  freshest  and  most  succulent  vegeta 
bles,  the  most  aromatic  peaches,  and  hugest  sugary  melons  this 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  445 

earth  produces,  and  are  happy.  I  sell  my  surplus  at  good 
prices,  and  find  such  a  satisfaction  therein  that  I  intend  plant 
ing  eight  hundred  additional  peach-trees  this  fall  !  My  grapes 
are  already  ripe,  and  are  admirable  in  bloom  and  flavor.  More 
over,  I  have  just  purchased  six  hundred  bushels  of  lime,  a  pyra 
mid  of  manure,  and  two  tons  of  phosphate,  determined  to  make 
my  picturesque  acres  pay  for  their  keep.  I  wish  you  could  come 
here  this  fall,  and  help  me  arrange  and  decide  how  best  to  use 
Nature  without  spoiling  her  looks. 

We  had  a  most  agreeable  visit  at  Springfield,  and  reached 
Boston  on  the  Friday  night  after  leaving  you.  Making  our 
headquarters  there,  we  spent  Saturday  with  Whittier  at  Ames- 
bury,  and  on  Sunday  drove  to  Nahant,  and  passed  the  afternoon 
with  Longfellow.  The  weather  was  perfection,  and  the  coast 
scenery  more  charming  than  I  ever  saw  it  before.  The  Atlantic 
was  as  blue  as  the  Mediterranean.  I  met  Suydam,  who  told  me 
that  he  and  Giff ord 1  were  at  Newburyport,  and  Whittredge  at 
Portsmouth.  We  left  Boston  on  Monday  evening,  and  came  di 
rectly  home  by  the  Newport  way.  So  ended  the  short  but  de 
lightful  summer  vacation.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  your  Rondout 
nook,  and  to  put  you,  in  memory,  among  your  proper  surround 
ings. 

I  expect  Graham  and  Boker  (if  they  don't  disappoint  me)  in  a 
few  days.  With  that  exception  my  autumn  will  be  lonely. 
Perhaps,  if  my  funds  run  low,  I  shall  go  out  to  Iowa  and  Kansas 
in  October,  and  pick  up  a  few  lectures.  I  have  still  this  good 
staff  (though  a  tiresome  crutch)  upon  which  to  lean  at  need. 
But  next  winter  I  shall  and  must  have  free  in  New  York,  even  if 
I  have  to  borrow  my  expenses.  And  next  summer,  D.  V.,  we 
shall  all  go  to  Italy  ! 

TO  E.   C.    STEDMAN. 

CEDAKCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  1,  1865. 
Your  Sunday  message  from  the  Adirondacks  was  welcome  in 
every  way.     It  had  a  healthy,  resinous  twang,  which,  without 
your  assurance  of  the  same,  would  have  told  me  of  your  physical 
improvement.      Stay  as  long  as  you  can,  therefore,  and   bring 
back  to  us  a  double  portion  of  strength  from  the  hills.     Your 
fare  and  surroundings  make  a  profound  impression  both  upon  M. 
and  myself  ;  but  since  we  can't  share  them,  we  take  up  our  bas- 
i  The  late  Sanford  R.  Gifford. 


446  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

kets,  go  out-of-doors,  and  gather  a  bushel  of  the  loveliest  peaches 
—  in  flavor,  color,  and  aromatic  breath  —  ever  grown.  Then  we 
pluck  bunches  of  the  pink  Delaware,  the  misty  blue  Isabella,  and 
the  black  Concord  grape.  Then  we  press  upon  huge  melons  to 
see  which,  by  a  soft,  crisp  crack  of  the  heart,  gives  sign  of 
sugary  ripeness.  Then  we  gather  the  rotund  Due  d'Angouleme 
and  the  honey-blooded  Doyenne  d'Ete,  and  dress  our  spoils  for 
the  table  with  Bacchic  vine-leaves.  The  butcher  has  left  a  quar 
ter  of  succulent  lamb,  there  is  okra  fresh  pulled  for  our  gumbo 
soup,  great  egg-plants  tumble  about  the  kitchen  floor,  and  the 
cellar  is  heaped  with  tomatoes,  squashes,  green  corn,  Lima  beans, 
and  fresh  celery,  matured  by  a  wonderful  invention  of  my  own. 
Moreover,  the  last  bottle  of  sparkling  Moselle  is  in  ice,  and  will 
be  drunk  at  dinner,  to  commemorate  —  what  ? 

This  brings  me  to  a  piece  of  news  which  I  am  vain  enough, 
selfish  enough,  and  ridiculous  enough  to  communicate  to  you,  O 
my  friend,  without  loss  of  time,  in  the  hallucination  that  you 
will  experience  a  mild  thrill  of  sympathetic  interest.  I  have  fin 
ished  my  "  Picture  of  St.  John  "  !  Soon  after  writing  to  you 
last,  I  found  that  the  leading  horse  of  my  tandem  was  running 
away  with  me,  so  I  cut  loose  from  the  prose  animal  in  the  thills, 
jumped  upon  Pegasus  just  as  the  wings  were  growing  out  of  his 
shoulders  and  flanks,  and  off  we  went  !  I  was  possessed,  as  I 
have  not  been  for  years,  —  utterly  absorbed,  distrait,  and  lost  for 
the  material  aspects  of  life.  So,  by  August  1st,  the  Third 
Book  —  which  was  barely  commenced,  you  may  remember  — 
was  finished.  Then  M.  and  I  went  on  a  ten  days'  trip  to  Ron- 
dout  (McEntees)  and  Massachusetts,  spending  a  day  with  dear 
old  Whittier  at  Amesbury  and  a  day  with  Longfellow  at  Na- 
hant.  We  had  a  charming  little  journey,  but  I  was  pursued  by 
"  St.  John,"  and  no  sooner  had  I  returned  home  than  I  recom 
menced,  with  the  same  overpowering  possession.  One  day  I 
wrote  nineteen  stanzas  !  not  because  I  was  hurried,  but  because 
it  was  impossible  to  drop  the  pen.  So,  a  week  ago,  the  Fourth 
and  last  Book  was  finished.  Then,  still  unsatisfied,  I  turned 
back  and  re-wrote  the  first  third  of  Book  First,  rounding  and 
completing  the  poem  ;  then  the  introductory  Proem  ;  and  now, 
everything  being  completed  at  last  and  laid  aside  to  cool  for  the 
final  revision,  behold  the  explanation  of  the  Moselle  !  You  can 
not  conceive  how  I  rejoice  at  having  thus  been  forced  to  finish 
my  task,  the  last  half  of  which  is  much  better  than  the  first.  The 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  447 

poem  is  the  one  good  thing  I  have  done,  but  I  don't  know 
whether  relief  or  regret  is  my  predominant  feeling  now.  For 
the  first  time  in  many  years  I  feel  my  physical  nature  completely 
bound  and  trodden  under  foot  by  the  intellectual.  But  it  is  not 
altogether  agreeable.  I  was  fast  losing  my  appetite,  my  healthy 
sleep,  and  my  delight  in  air  and  sunshine. 

A  four  weeks'  lecturing  tour  in  the  West  broke  into 
the  autumn  and  interrupted  work  on  "  Kennett,"  but 
after  a  rest  at  Cedarcroft,  where  he  lingered  until  the 
winter  snows  came,  Bayard  Taylor  went,  with  his  fam 
ily,  into  winter  quarters  in  New  York,  and  settled 
down  to  work  on  his  novel.  He  looked  forward  to  a 
quiet  winter  of  social  pleasures  and  freedom  from  work 
as  soon  as  his  novel  should  be  completed  ;  to  the  old 
delights  of  painting,  and  then  to  poetry  and  a  revision 
of  "  St.  John."  He  had  reached  one  of  those  stages 
where  he  was  minded  to  halt,  look  about  him  leisurely, 
and  wait  for  the  next  impulse  which  should  send  him 
forward.  Idle  he  could  never  be  :  if  he  did  not  work 
in  earnest,  he  worked  in  fun ;  if  poetry  did  not  inspire 
him,  he  played  with  the  muse  and  teased  her  into  giv 
ing  out  quips  and  oddities.  But  there  were  tides  in 
his  life,  and  it  was  one  thing  to  work  as  under  posses 
sion,  another  to  work  from  sheer  inability  of  his  mind 
to  remain  inactive.  He  had,  besides,  so  far  disposed 
of  schemes  and  fancies  that  now  he  looked  rather  to 
the  large  movements  of  his  mind  than  to  merely  busy 
occupation.  The  writing  of  a  sustained  poem  had 
made  him  indifferent  to  lesser  motifs ;  the  carrying 
forward  of  a  plot  in  a  substantial  novel  had  accus 
tomed  him  to  full  measure  in  intellectual  effort ;  and 
perhaps  it  is  not  insignificant  that  he  should,  at  this 
time,  have  found  satisfaction  in  the  sonnet,  as  if  even 
in  the  briefer  expressions  of  poetry  he  chose  a  form 

VOL.  II.  3 


448  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

which  to  the  poetic  soul  is  like  a  planet,  —  a  brilliant 
gleam  in  appearance,  a  vast  world  in  reality. 

He  did  not  lack  opportunities  for  literary  occupa 
tion.  His  position  invited  proposals  from  publishers 
and  editors,  but  he  knew  his  own  powers  well  by  this 
time,  and  he  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  the  plan  of 
his  life,  —  though,  to  be  sure,  a  new  barn  or  green 
house  was  a  tolerably  potent  engine  to  draw  him  off 
his  conscious  course.  An  enthusiastic  admirer,  plot 
ting  great  things  for  himself  and  his  idol,  proposed  a 
new  monthly  magazine,  to  be  called  "  Bayard  Taylor's 
Journal,"  and  received  the  following  reply :  — 

NEW  YORK,  December  16,  1865. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  The  undertaking  you  suggest  never  entered  my 
mind,  for  the  simple  reason  that,  as  I  am  individually  constituted, 
it  is  utterly  impracticable. 

1.  I  never  would  give  my  own  name  to  a  periodical.     That  is 
a  thing  which  publishers  do  (Chambers,  Blackwood,  etc.),  not 
authors. 

2.  I  never  would  allow  my  name  to  be  responsible  before  the 
public  for  the  conduct  of  a  journal,  unless  I  actually  assumed  the 
responsibility,  not  even  if  my  best  literary  friend  were  the  editor. 
There  is  no  satisfaction  in  even  a  pint  of  hot  water  which  has 
been  heated  by  somebody  else. 

3.  Nothing  is  a  more  precarious  venture  than  the  establish 
ment  of  a  new  journal.     It  is  just  one  of  those  things  wherein 
Ned  Buntline  might  succeed,  and  the  angel  Gabriel  fail. 

4.  In  any  case,  this  is  not  the  time  for  such  a  venture.     Sev 
eral  dozens  of  new  periodicals  have  been  started  within  the  year, 
more  are  announced,  and  there  will  soon  be  a  surfeit. 

With  regard  to  Mr.  Dickens,  I  happen  to  know  that  there  is 
not  a  better  man  of  business  in  all  England.  He  is  his  own  pub 
lisher,  editor,  and  man-of-all-work.  Not  even  an  advertisement 
goes  upon  the  covers  of  his  magazine  without  having  passed 
through  his  hands.  He  directs,  personally,  all  the  details  of  the 
business,  and  is  found  daily  at  his  working  desk  in  the  office. 

Finally,  I  once  allowed  my  name  to  be  used  as  simply  co-ed 
itor  of  "  Graham's  Magazine,"  to  my  lasting  regret  and  disgust. 


THE  PICTURE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  449 

Henceforward  I  put  my  name  to  nothing  that  is  not  wholly  and 
solely  my  own,  and  the  most  brilliant  pecuniary  glitter  will  not 
change  my  mind.  Very  truly  yours, 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

Bayard  Taylor  found  his  relief  from  the  work  and 
care  of  the  day  in  the  social  diversions  of  the  evening. 
His  house  had  come  to  be  the  meeting-place  of  a 
group  of  artists,  men  of  letters,  and  cultivated  peo 
ple  who  liked  best  such  associates.  Among  these,  the 
tired  poet  was  like  a  boy,  and  his  own  contagious 
cheerfulness  was  so  genuine  that  no  one  was  surprised 
at  it,  or  imagined  that  it  was  not  the  habitual  temper 
of  his  days.  The  charm  of  these  evenings  was  in  their 
unconventionality,  their  hearty  yet  refined  devotion 
to  fun  and  frolic,  and  the  impromptu  wit  which  turned 
the  shop  even  into  merry-making.  Among  the  ha 
bitues  were  the  Stoddards,  Stedmans,  McEntees,  Mr. 
S.  R.  Gifford,  Mr.  Launt  Thompson,  Mr.  Macdon- 
ough,  Mr.  Aldrich,  Mr.  Whitelaw  Reid,  Mr.  Eastman 
Johnson,  as  well  as  some  unknown  to  fame,  but  wel 
comed  for  their  wit  and  geniality.  One  would  occa 
sionally  see  Horace  Greeley  open  the  door  a  crack, 
squeeze  in  like  a  bashful  boy,  and  seat  himself  in  a 
chair  nearest  the  door.  "  Once  I  remember,"  writes 
an  artist  of  these  evenings,  "  when  the  Taylors  had 
rooms  in  Eighth  Street,  and  a  number  of  us,  among 
whom  I  recall  Gifford.  Cranch,  Launt  Thompson,  the 
Stoddards,  and  McEntees,  had  been  celebrating  some 
anniversary,  —  a  birthday,  perhaps.  Towards  evening 
it  was  proposed  to  go  to  my  studio.  We  gathered  up 
the  salads  and  remaining  dishes,  and  hiding  them  un 
der  cloaks  and  shawls  adjourned  to  my  rooms  and 
spent  the  evening.  Some  of  the  other  artists  came  in, 
and  at  last  they  lighted  up  their  studios,  and  we  went 


450  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

from  one  to  the  other,  dressing  up  in  any  fantastic 
thing  we  found  in  the  studios,  —  Arctic  dresses  from 
Bradford's  and  Indian  toggery  from  Bierstadt's." 

If  art  was  turned  into  sport,  so  was  literature.  One 
favorite  entertainment  was  the  writing  of  impromptu 
verses  upon  some  subject,  the  poets  being  furnished 
with  tags  of  rhymes  ;  or  parodies  were  perpetrated  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment.  Here  is  one  of  Bayard  Tay 
lor's  bits  of  nonsense :  — 

THE   VALE   OF  AUREA. 

There 's  not  in  this  wide  world  a  color  so  sweet 
As  that  hill  where  the  ochre  and  indigo  meet ; 
Where  the  shadows  are  umber,  the  lights  are  gamboge, 
And  the  clouds  in  the  distance  are  tinted  with  rouge. 

Oh,  the  last  drop  of  varnish  and  oil  shall  depart 
Ere  the  hue  of  the  pigments  shall  fade  from  my  heart ; 
Ere  the  glow  of  sienna  shall  fall  to  decay, 
And  the  gloom  of  asphaltum  shall  vanish  away. 

It  is  not  that  Nature  hath  spread  o'er  the  scene 
The  olive  and  lake  and  Veronese  green ; 
'T  is  not  the  soft  magic  of  madder  and  blue, 
Nor  the  glitter  of  cadmium  shining  all  through. 

Oh,  no  !    'T  is  that  purchasers  eager  are  near, 

And  the  price  shall  be  higher,  for  the  colors  are  dear. 

If  the  frame  is  expensive  the  picture  will  sell, 

And  at  least  for  two  weeks  I  shall  eat  and  drink  well. 

"  Trying  to  analyze  my  own  delight  in  these  gather 
ings,"  writes  the  artist  whose  letter  is  quoted  above, 
"  it  seems  to  me  that  it  came  from  the  feeling  of  free 
dom  from  restraint  and  criticism.  These  bright  men 
and  women  were  sufficient  unto  each  other.  The  un 
ostentatious  hospitality  was  so  cheerily  dispensed  ;  the 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  451 

ignoring  and  forgetting  all  vexing  and  disturbing  af 
fairs  in  his  home  being  one  of  the  marked  features  in 
Taylor's  character.  Busy,  hard-working  man  as  he 
was,  he  must  have  had  many  trials  and  annoyances, 
as  we  aU  have,  but  the  friends  who  were  always  ready 
to  go  to  his  house  never  wondered  why  Taylor  was 
particularly  cheerful,  for  he  was  that  always  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course." 

The  "  Story  of  Kennett "  was  finished  in  January 
and  published  early  in  April.  While  engaged  upon 
it  the  author  had  a  letter  from  an  old  friend,  criti 
cising  the  two  novels  already  published,  and  his  reply 
intimates  something  of  the  attitude  which  he  took 
toward  his  works  of  fiction. 


TO    JOHN  B.   PHILLIPS. 

NEW  YORK,  January  6,  1866. 

.  .  .  "Hannah"  is  not  my  "pet  child"  (no  prose  work  of 
mine  is,  or  can  be),  but  the  book  has  certain  positive  merits  which 
I  can  see,  although  I  be  its  author.  Artistically,  it  is  not  a  fail 
ure.  To  be  sure,  it  has  serious  faults  :  it  lacks  movement, 
especially  in  the  first  half  ;  there  is  much  unnecessary  detail,  fre 
quently  a  want  of  relief,  and  some  of  the  characters  are  imper 
fectly  developed.  But  Hannah  Thurston,  the  woman,  is  a 
successful  creation  ;  the  scope  and  plan  of  the  book  are  correct. 
Were  I  to  write  it  again,  I  would  retain  these  as  they  are.  .  .  . 
As  to  "  John  Godfrey,"  it  is  greatly  superior  to  "  Hannah  Thurs 
ton  "  in  execution.  It  is  livelier,  more  entertaining  to  the  general 
reader,  and  written  in  a  more  fresh  and  vigorous  style,  but  the 
subject  is  less  original.  Both  books  have  had  a  great  sale,  and 
are  still  selling  at  a  surprising  rate,  considering  they  are  already 
old.  I  am  glad  you  like  John,  —  men  generally  do  ;  while  the 
women  still  prefer  Hannah.  My  pet  novel  is  one  upon  which  I 
am  now  engaged,  and  which  will  be  published  in  about  two 
months.  It  is  totally  different  from  the  others,  —  altogether  ob 
jective  in  subject  and  treatment,  —  and  I  know  it  will  greatly 
interest  you,  whether  you  may  like  it  or  not. 


452  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Some  details  of  defense  of  "  Hannah  Thurston " 
were  added,  and  brought  later  a  second  letter  from  his 
friend,  in  which  the  impressions  received  upon  a  sec 
ond  reading  were  given.  The  letter  came  just  as  Bay 
ard  Taylor  was  returning  with  his  family  to  Cedar- 
croft.  The  answer  to  this  letter  gives  further  history 
of  his  ventures  in  fiction. 


TO   JOHN    B.    PHILLIPS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  2,  1866. 

.  .  .  My  new  novel,  "  The  Story  of  Kemiett,"  promises  to  be  a 
marked  success,  so  far  as  present  indications  go.  Although  the 
publishing  business  is  as  flat  as  possible,  more  than  six  thousand 
copies  have  been  ordered  in  advance  of  publication,  and  the  few 
who  have  read  the  book  are  unanimous  as  to  its  interest.  I  am 
curious  to  hear  your  verdict. 

I  have  not  your  second  letter  at  hand  to-day  ;  it  is  among 
some  papers  yet  unpacked.  (We  only  returned  from  New  York 
day  before  yesterday.)  But  I  was  a  little  amused  at  the  new 
aspects  which  "  Hannah  Thurston  "  presented  to  you  on  a  second 
reading.  The  same  thing  has  happened  in  this  neighborhood. 
Several  of  those  who  were  at  first  most  indignant  have  since 
confessed  that  they  had  overlooked  or  misinterpreted  many  im 
portant  points,  and  are  now  much  better  satisfied.  I  probably 
could  not  have  entered  upon  a  new  literary  field  with  a  better 
subject,  because  the  very  difference  of  opinion  was  an  advantage. 
For  this  reason  I  deliberately  chose  it,  not  wishing  to  venture 
either  "John  Godfrey"  or  the  "Story  of  Kennett"  (both  of 
which  were  first  conceived,  years  ago)  upon  an  experiment. 
Each  work  has  taught  me  much  that  I  could  not  have  known 
without  writing  it,  and,  whatever  may  be  individual  opinions,  has 
upon  the  whole  advanced  my  position  as  an  author.  I  am  en 
tirely  satisfied,  —  not  with  the  works  themselves,  God  forbid  ! 
but  with  the  result  of  the  experiment,  —  and  am  now  sure  that  I 
can  write  a  good  and  characteristic  American  novel.  My  mind 
is  now  so  trained  by  twenty  years'  work  that  I  cannot  rest  with 
out  production,  and  as  my  standard  of  literary  art  recedes  just  in 
proportion  as  I  approach  it  I  am  all  the  time  kept  in  good  heart. 
I  began  ten  years,  in  development,  behind  almost  every  other 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  453 

author  whom  I  know,  and  therefore  shall  continue  to  grow  when 
many  of  them  have  reached  their  full  stature.  Whatever  may 
be  the  faults  of  "  H.  T."  (and  I  confess  to  a  great  many),  the 
booksellers  tell  me  that  it  already  has  the  character  of  a  stand 
ard  work.  Now,  two  and  a  half  years  after  publication,  there  is 
a  steady,  permanent  demand  for  it.  The  same  people  also  say 
(looking  at  the  thing  solely  as  a  matter  of  business)  that  I  am 
entirely  successful  as  a  novelist.  But  I  know  my  own  deficien 
cies,  and  attribute  what  success  I  have  to  want  of  satisfaction 
in  former  works,  —  the  spur  that  drives  me  onward.  I  have 
never  before  worked  so  steadily  and  untiringly  with  the  pen  as 
last  year,  and  I  shall  work  harder  this  year  than  the  last.  There 
is  no  lack  of  material.  So  long  as  the  faculty  does  not  flag  I 
shall  labor,  finding  a  joy  in  solid,  conscientious  work  which  I 
never  found  in  the  youthful  glow  and  formless  excitement  of  a 
very  undeveloped  brain. 

The  "  Story  of  Kennett  "  was  received,  not  only  by 
a  larger  public,  but  also  by  a  more  unanimous  press. 
The  idyllic  character  of  the  work,  its  freedom  from 
burning  questions,  and  its  objectivity  gave  it  great 
popularity.  The  people  conversant  with  the  locality 
of  the  tale  were  especially  eager  to  read  it.  Only  one 
passage  received  condemnation,  and  as  the  fullest  crit 
icism  of  it  was  from  the  pen  of  his  old  Kennett  friend, 
John  B.  Phillips,  we  reproduce  it  here,  with  the  au 
thor's  defense :  — 

"  L.  has  just  finished  reading  me  the  '  Story  of 
Kennett,' "  writes  Mr.  Phillips,  "  with  which,  in  the 
main,  we  were  very  much  delighted.  With  one  soli 
tary  exception  I  think  it  admirable  !  We  drove  on 
through  it  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  chase,  the  raising,  the 
corn-husking,  the  journey  to  Chester,  the  robbery,  the 
flood  at  Chad's  Ford,  the  peril,  the  rescue,  the  daring 
Sandy  Flash  and  Deb  Smith,  all  throw  a  glamour  of 
romance  over  the  whole  thing.  The  wanderings  of 
Sandy  and  Deb,  the  final  capture  of  the  former  on  the 


454  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Brandywine,  are  admirable.  The  love  is  all  right,  too  ; 
Martha  Deane  capital.  Indeed,  the  whole  thing  was 
sweeping  toward  a  complete  and  perfect  success,  with 
out  slip,  halt,  flaw,  or  blemish.  We  stopped  again 
and  again  to  praise.  L.  said  twenty  times,  4 1  want  to 
write  to  him  and  tell  him  how  much  I  admire  it.'  I 
noticed  nothing  that  jarred  at  all  until  we  came  to  the 
funeral  of  old  Barton.  Mary  Potter's  course  began  to 
grate  on  my  feelings  then,  and  kept  on  doing  it  all 
through.  I  stopped  the  reading  and  made  my  first 
objection  there,  almost  at  the  end  of  the  book.  As 
this  is  the  very  climax  of  the  whole  thing,  you  have  of 
course  well  considered  what  you  were  about,  and  my 
objections  will  not  change  your  own  ideas.  But  I  am 
bound  to  give  my  real  opinion,  if  I  give  any  opinion 
of  the  book  at  all.  It  seemed  to  me  like  a  ship  grat 
ing  on  sunken  rocks,  in  sight  of  the  harbor.  Mary 
Potter  announces  before  she  leaves  home  that  that  is 
to  be  '  her  day,'  and  she  makes  a  field  day  of  it  for 
certain.  I  am  sorry  to  think  that  she  damages  herself 
seriously  by  her  course.  I  am  disposed  to  deny  to  her 
altogether  the  right  to  call  it  her  day.  It  was  a  day 
set  apart  for  a  funeral,  at  which  all  people,  civilized 
and  savage,  feel  bound  to  act  with  more  than  ordinary 
decorum,  to  suppress  their  passions  and  postpone  their 
private  rights,  wrongs,  and  grievances.  The  relatives 
and  neighbors  of  the  old  man,  it  is  to  be  presumed, 
honestly  meant  to  give  him  a  decent  burial.  They  had 
a  right  to  do  it  without  molestation  from  Mary  Potter 
or  any  one  else.  They  had  never  harmed  her,  the 
other  relations  never  harmed  her ;  the  old  man  had  left 
her  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  she  knew  it,  or  at 
least  that  she  was  left  something.  Why  not  allow  him 
a  decent  burial  ?  What  had  the  funeral  party  to  do 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  455 

with  the  fact  of  her  having  been  married  to  Alfred  for 
twenty-five  years  ?  What  had  that  to  do  with  the  fu 
neral  ?  What  had  her  triumph  or  her  justification  to 
do  with  it  ?  What  right  had  she  to  make  the  old 
man's  coffin  a  platform  on  which  to  exhibit  her  tri 
umph  or  her  justification,  and,  to  use  her  own  words, 
to  make  it  her  day  ?  She  suffered  so  much  !  Every 
body  suffers  or  has  suffered.  But  she  had  a  right  as 
wife  to  do  it !  Technically,  she  had.  I  have  a  right 
to  break  a  funeral  procession  in  the  street,  —  the  street 
is  as  much  mine  as  anybody's  ;  but  I  don't  do  it.  The 
rule  in  short  is,  You  are  bound  to  postpone  the  exer 
cise  of  your  rights  at  a  funeral  if  it  should  mar  the 
solemnity  or  propriety  of  the  occasion.  .  .  .  But  the 
principal  person  who  has  my  sympathy  on  that  occa 
sion  is  Gilbert  Potter.  He  is  the  man  that  is  pilloried. 
For  him  the  thing  must  have  been  perfectly  awful.  I 
can't  imagine  how  his  worst  or  meanest  enemy,  by  the 
utmost  stretch  of  malice,  could  have  by  any  possi 
bility  contrived  a  more  harrowing  way  of  breaking  to 
him  a  most  loathsome  fact.  His  humiliation  is  perfect 
and  complete.  I  agree  with  him  that  Sandy  Flash 
were  a  much  better  father.  I  fail  to  see  much  tri 
umph  in  Mary's  hanging  on  to  Alf's  rotten  carcass. 
The  funeral  becomes  a  rabble  not  pleasant  to  contem 
plate.  The  procession  is  broken,  and  men  lash  their 
horses  to  get  ahead  and  gloat  their  greedy  eyes  on  the 
pilloried  Alf  and  Potter  and  the  triumphant  Mary 
Potter." 

To  this  Bayard  Taylor  replied :  — 

"  Your  criticism  of  '  Kennett '  astounded  me  quite 
as  much  as  your  rage  about  '  Hannah.'  That  you 
should  have  picked  out  the  most  powerful,  most  dra 
matic,  most  (by  all  the  principles  of  art  and  life)  jus- 


456  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

tifiable  chapter  in  the  book  for  condemnation  almost 
takes  the  breath  out  of  me.  You  must  remember  that 
Mary  Potter  is  both  proud  and  stubborn ;  a  merely 
good  woman  could  never  have  exhibited  her  energy 
and  determination.  She  had  fixed,  for  years,  just  this 
justification  in  her  mind  ;  there  is  a  vein  of  supersti 
tion  about  her ;  she  sees  simply  what  she  believes  the 
Lord  has  directed  her  to  do,  and  she  does  it.  What 
you  say  of  the  order  of  funerals  in  Kennett  is  quite 
true.  Such  an  incident  as  I  have  described  probably 
never  occurred,  but  that  makes  no  difference  whatever. 
It  is  natural  for  Mary  to  do  it;  there  could  be  no 
other  culmination  to  her  history.  I  was  a  year  study 
ing  out  the  plot  before  I  began  to  write,  and  the  idea 
of  the  denouement  at  the  funeral  came  to  me  like  an 
inspiration." 

As  soon  as  the  novel  was  finished  Bayard  Taylor 
took  up  again  "  The  Picture  of  St.  John,"  and  had  re 
vised  it  for  publication  by  the  time  "  Kennett  "  was 
fairly  launched.  The  novel  was  coming  back  to  him 
in  a  hundred  ways  in  the  congratulation  of  friends  and 
notices  of  the  press,  but  his  mind  was  set  on  his  poem 
and  its  final  form  far  more  intently.  A  thing  done 
had  not  the  charm  of  a  thing  doing.  His  translation 
of  "  Faust  "  also  was  resumed. 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  15  (Sunday),  1866. 
I  wish  you  could  be  here  to-day  to  smell  the  blossoming  hya 
cinths  on  our  terrace,  and  to  go  out  with  us  and  gather  the  first 
wild-wood  flowers.  It  throws  me  into  an  incredulous  ecstasy  to 
see  budding,  growing,  and  greening  all  over  the  land.  More 
over,  in  spite  of  various  worries  (inevitable,  I  suppose)  with  my 
retainers,  I  am  in  the  jolliest  mood.  On  Friday  I  received  let 
ters  from  Tennyson,  Whittier,  and  Howells.  Tennyson  praises 
my  blue-and-gold  poems,  and  cordially  invites  me  to  revisit  him 


THE  PICTURE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  457 

in  England.  Whittier  is  enthusiastic  about  "  Kennett ; "  ditto 
Howells.  The  former  says  it  contains  "  as  good  things  as  there 
are  in  the  English  language  ;  "  the  latter,  "  it  is  the  best  histori 
cal  (historical  in  the  sense  of  retrospective)  novel  ever  written  in 
America."  Curtis  said  very  nearly  the  same  thing  to  me  at  our 
dinner.  So,  you  see,  my  hope  and  your  prophecy  are  in  a  way  to 
be  fulfilled.  The  people  in  this  county  are  buying  it  like  mad. 
I  was  in  the  West  Chester  book-store  yesterday,  and  found  three 
men  walking  out  with  it  in  their  pockets  and  two  buying  it  at  the 
counter.  I  am  refreshed,  encouraged,  stimulated,  delighted,  — 
and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it  ! 

Yesterday  came  the  proof  of  the  first  eighty  pages  of  "  St. 
John."  The  page  is  altogether  lovely  ;  and  the  poem  (an  unus 
ual  experience  with  me)  looks  better  in  type  than  in  MS.  I  am 
going  to  order  two  revises,  and  send  one  to  you  and  Dick.  I 
want,  by  the  bye,  to  tell  you  that  your  denunciation  of  a  certain 
prosaic  stanza  in  Book  III.  produced  its  effect.  It  ran  this 
way  :  — 

But  on  the  pier  a  messenger  I  found 

From  Como,  hasty  with  intelligence 

Of  orders  waiting  me  in  Milan,  whence 

The  summons  came.    My  work  had  grown  renowned, 

He  said,  and  certain  frescoes  might  be  mine 

If  I  but  claimed  them  :  here  a  field  divine 

Offered :  he  saw  my  brows  already  crowned, 

For  who  would  shrink  occasion  so  benign  ? 

Now  it  reads  thus  :  — 

But  on  the  pier  a  messenger  I  found 

From  Milan,  where  the  borrowed  name  I  bore 

Was  known,  he  said,  and  more  than  half-renowned  ; 

And  now  a  bright  occasion  offered  me 

A  fairer  crown  than  yet  my  forehead  wore,  — 

A  range  of  palace-chambers  to  adorn 

"With  sportive  frescoes,  nymphs  of  earth  and  sea, 

Pursuing  Hours,  and  marches  of  the  Morn  ! 

You  thus  see  that  a  criticism  strongly  expressed  sometimes 
does  good.  I  find,  however,  that  I  cannot  make  many  additional 
changes  in  the  proof,  not  so  much  from  want  of  desire  or 
ability  as  because  the  subject,  once  expressed,  is  losing  its  hold 
on  my  imagination,  —  passing  from  me.  You  will  understand 
this,  I  think.  .  .  . 

Would  that  you  could  breathe  this  soft,  sweet  air  with  us  ! 
We  have  cucumbers  to-day  for  dinner,  and  the  house  is  filled 


458  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

with  delicate  bouquets  from  flowers  blooming  in  the  open  air.  I 
have  a  fine  promise  of  fruit,  in  spite  of  the  severe  winter  ;  and  as 
for  the  repose  and  seclusion  of  the  place,  it  is  simply  heavenly. 
When  the  ferment  of  the  winter  has  subsided  a  little  more,  I 
shall  produce  lots  of  poems  "  and  things."  Love  from  M.  (and 
me)  to  you  and  L.  and  the  boys. 

TO   T.   B.   ALDRICH. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  16,  1866. 

...  I  had  bestowed  much  preliminary  thought  upon  the  book, 
["  Kennett "],  and  I  worked  out  the  idea  with  the  most  conscien 
tious  care,  hoping  to  make  a  stride  in  advance.  It  is  a  great  joy 
and  a  great  encouragement  to  be  so  unanimously  assured  that  I 
have  not  failed  in  my  aim.  The  moral  is  that  labor  pays,  in  a 
literary  sense. 

As  for  the  poem,  I  hope  also  that  it  shows  equal  growth.  Cer 
tainly,  it  is  the  result  of  long  and  patient  study.  I  have  written 
to  Fields,  asking  that  one  revised  proof  be  furnished  conjointly 
to  yourself  and  Howells,  and  I  want  to  ask  you  both  to  read  it 
critically  as  you  have  time,  and  make  any  suggestion  to  me  that 
you  may  think  needful.  The  plan  of  the  poem  cannot  be  changed, 
of  course,  but  it  will  always  be  possible  to  make  verbal  or  poet 
ically  technical  corrections.  I  need  not  say  that  the  proof  is  only 
for  the  private  eyes  of  you  two.  I  don't  want  anything  in  rela 
tion  to  the  poem  to  get  into  the  papers  before  it  appears.  .  .  . 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  18,  1866. 
.  .  .  Such  time  as  I  can  spare  from  gardening,  making  pumps, 
sowing  phosphates,  and  hauling  manure  is  devoted  to  my  transla 
tion  of  "  Faust "  —  a  heart-rending  yet  intensely  fascinating  labor. 
I  design  nothing  less  than  to  produce  the  English  "  Faust ; "  it  can 
be  done,  I  know,  and  pray  Heaven  that  I  may  be  the  chosen  man 
to  do  it.  When  I  look  into  the  other  translations,  I  am  encour 
aged  and  comforted.  Yesterday  I  put  thirty-nine  two-footed 
dactylic  double-rhymed  lines  of  Goethe  into  thirty-nine  do.  do.  do. 
of  my  own,  preserving  the  exact  order  of  rhyme,  and  translating 
the  sense  nearly  literally.  Good  God,  what  a  job  it  was  !  But 
I  enjoy  it,  withal.  My  great  delight  in  the  labor  gives  me  hope  ; 
for  that  which  I  do  with  a  real  luxurious  satisfaction,  with  a 
sense  like  the  gratification  of  a  carnal  appetite,  is  almost  sure 
(so  I  have  learned  by  experience)  to  be  pronounced  good  by 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  459 

others.  Let  me  hear  from  you  before  the  1st  of  June,  because 
I  fully  expect  to  set  out  then  on  a  six  weeks'  trip  to  Colorado, 
with  Beard  and  Whittredge.  I  '11  lecture  a  little,  write  letters, 
and  make  sketches. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  21,  1866. 

...  If  you  see  Church,  I  wish  you  'd  be  kind  enough  to  sound 
him  about  a  translation  of  Miigge's  Norwegian  romance  of 
"  Arvor  Spang  "  as  a  serial  for  the  "  Galaxy."  (Miigge,  you  know, 
is  the  author  of  "  Afraja.")  It  would  make  twenty-five  pages  a 
month  for  six  months,  about,  and  I  'd  do  the  whole  thing,  with  a 
prefatory  sketch  of  the  author,  for  a  thousand  dollars.  I  want 
to  go  to  Germany  in  the  fall,  on  M.'s  account  (her  mother 
complains  of  ill-health),  and  must  therefore  earn  some  money. 
Moreover,  I  don't  want  to  commence  another  novel  at  once. 

I'll  be  in  New  York  in  about  a  week  from  now,  and  will 
then  see  you.  I  can  also  bring  you  the  first  three  books  of  "  St. 
John."  .  .  . 

The  months  of  June  and  July  were  spent  in  the  trip 
to  Colorado,  where  the  party  roughed  it,  and  Bayard 
Taylor  occupied  himself  besides  in  occasional  lectures 
and  in  frequent  letters  to  the  "Tribune."  He  summed 
up  his  experience  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Phillips,  just  after 
his  return,  when  he  wrote,  "My  trip  to  the  Eocky 
Mountains  was  very  fatiguing,  perhaps  as  much  so  as 
any  short  journey  I  ever  made ;  but  it  has  refreshed 
me  greatly,  both  physically  and  mentally.  I  needed  a 
little  'let  up'  after  finishing  both  'Kennett'  and  'The 
Picture  of  St.  John '  within  the  same  year.  In  addi 
tion  I  shall  take  some  further  rest  before  commencing 
any  work  of  importance."  It  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to 
renew  acquaintance  with  the  most  intimate  friend  of 
his  boyhood,  and  he  wished  greatly  that  they  might 
meet  after  the  lapse  of  years,  to  compare  notes  of  ex 
perience.  Of  himself  he  says  in  the  same  letter: 
"  My  studies  now  are  changed  from  what  they  once 


460  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

were.  I  read  first  of  all  Goethe,  then  Montaigne, 
Burton,  Mill,  Buckle,  Matthew  Arnold,  and  the  old 
English  poets ;  of  the  modern,  chiefly  Wordsworth, 
Tennyson,  and  Clough.  Ruskin  and  Carlyle  serve  as 
entries.  I  abhor  everything  spasmodic  and  sensa 
tional,  and  aim  at  the  purest,  simplest,  quietest  style 
in  whatever  I  write.  My  ideal  is  as  far  off  as  ever,  but 
it  has  at  least  taken  a  clear,  definite  shape.  Instead 
of  mist,  I  see  form.  I  have  lost  something  of  lyrical 
heat  and  passion,  but  gained  in  feeling  of  proportion 
and  construction.  You  can  easily  understand  how  this 
change  has  come  about." 

TO   E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

CEDARCROFT,  August  13,  1866. 

.  .  .  Howells  and  Aldrich  are  the  only  ones  who  have  read  the 
proof,  and  the  combined  reports  will  be  a  useful  guide  to  me. 
Of  course  I  can't  change  the  plan  of  the  poem  or  its  process  of 
development,  but  the  minor  features  of  a  poem  of  this  length  are 
hardly  less  important,  and  therein  you  may  do  me  friendly  ser 
vice. 

I  doubt  whether  I  shall  begin  any  serious  work  this  fall, 
though,  physically,  I  feel  capable  of  anything.  I  have  lost  sev 
enteen  pounds  of  my  weight,  am  very  brown,  and  have  gone 
through  such  a  rough  and  tough  experience  that  now  it  seems 
as  if  I  had  put  on  a  complete  suit  of  new  flesh.  M.  superin 
tended  all  the  building  while  I  was  away,  and  now  the  work  is 
almost  done.  We  have  no  peaches  this  year,  but  melons  every 
day.  The  place  is  wonderfully  improved,  in  an  agricultural 
sense,  and  the  fields  yield  fine  crops.  I  begin,  at  last,  to  see  the 
result  of  my  experiment  in  culture,  and  am  both  vain  and  proud 
of  my  success.  When  will  you  come  to  us  ?  The  fall  will  soon 
be  here,  and  I  suggest  that  you  come  before  returning  to  your 
house.  While  you  are  on  the  wing  it  will  be  easier  for  you  to 
take  an  additional  flight  hitherwards  than  to  leave  your  perch 
afterwards. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  soon,  in  any  case.  I  am  hungry  for 
words  from  all  who  are  both  friends  and  poets.  It  seems  as  if  I 
had  been  absent  a  year. 


THE  PICTURE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  461 

TO  JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  17,  1866. 

Ever  since  I  got  back  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  (now  more 
than  six  weeks)  I  have  been  intending  to  write  to  you  ;  but 
I  didn't  know  your  address  until  Madam  Gertrude's  letter 
came,  and  since  then  I  have  been  exceedingly  busy,  my  three 
or  four  days  of  leisure  having  been  devoted  to  attending  the 
Loyal  Southern  Convention  at  Philadelphia,  which,  I  know,  you 
won't  think  was  time  ill-spent.  Beard  and  I  had  the  roughest, 
wildest,  grandest,  j  oiliest  time  among  the  great  mountains,  and 
there  was  n't  a  day  when  we  did  n't  wish  for  you  and  Gifford. 
We  did  n't  make  a  great  many  sketches,  being  too  much  de 
moralized  by  fatigue.  I  had  the  skin  burned  off  my  face  twice, 
every  bone  in  my  body  broken  (as  it  seemed  by  my  sensations), 
and  lost  seventeen  pounds  of  flesh.  But  I  am  all  the  better 
for  it ;  came  back  physically  refreshed,  and  with  a  store  of  won 
derful  pictures  in  my  memory. 

Soon  after  my  return  M.'s  brother  came  to  spend  a  month 
with  us.  The  young  man  had  taken  up  landscape-painting  as  a 
private  hobby,  and  brought  a  lot  of  oils  with  him.  I  seized  on 
them  instantly,  and  made  a  Rocky  Mountain  scene  from  mem 
ory.  I  was  so  fascinated  by  the  ability  to  work  slowly  and  cor 
rect  mistakes,  that  I  procured  a  twelve  -  dollar  tin  box  from 
Goupil's,  with  a  few  mill-boards,  four  of  which  I  have  already 
covered.  I  am  so  fascinated  by  the  delight  of  working  in  this 
new  and  delightful  material  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  stop,  and 
must,  perforce,  limit  my  indulgence  to  Sundays,  in  order  not  to 
neglect  my  legitimate  business.  My  brother-in-law  knows  no 
more  about  the  manipulation  than  I  do,  and  so  we  blunder  away, 
but  with  all  blundering,  I  find  I  can  produce  effects  utterly  im 
possible  to  me  in  water-colors.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  send  you 
a  specimen  after  I  know  that  you  are  back  in  Rondout. 

Do  let  me  hear  what  you  have  done  and  where  you  have  been, 
and  what  are  your  plans  for  the  winter,  etc.,  etc.  We  did  n't 
meet  Whittredge  in  Colorado.  I  hear  through  Stedman  that 
Gifford  has  been  with  you  this  summer.  We  hope  to  go  to 
Europe,  for  fifteen  or  eighteen  months,  in  February.  I  must 
have  rest.  Although  not  wholly  out  of  debt,  I  have  been  pros 
pering,  and  will  take  a  release  from  drudgery,  because  I  think  I 
deserve  it. 


462  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

The  "  St.  John  "  will  be  given  to  the  public  the  first  week  in 
November.  The  type  is  very  handsome,  and  Fields  promised  to 
have  it  printed  and  bound  in  sumptuous  style.  So  you  will  soon 
be  able  to  read  the  thing  at  your  cool,  critical  leisure.  Have 
you  seen  any  of  my  "  Tribune  "  letters  ?  I  've  half  a  mind  to 
make  a  little  volume  of  them,  merely  for  temporary  sale,  while 
the  curiosity  about  Colorado  is  active. 

I  'm  called  to  dinner,  and  must  close.  I  wish  you  were  here  to 
help  eat  our  splendid  melons  and  pears.  Say  you  '11  come  for  a 
fortnight.  I  '11  give  you  a  studio,  and  we  '11  all  be  happy  ! 

As  appears  from  the  correspondence,  Bayard  Taylor 
was  forming  plans  for  another  visit  to  Europe  and  a 
leisurely  stay  there.  He  was  tired;  he  was  reluctant 
to  enter  upon  any  new  and  considerable  work  at  pres 
ent  beside  his  "Faiist;"  he  saw  that  by  living  in 
Europe  he  could  avoid  some  expenses,  and  could  more 
easily  find  abundant  material  for  single  sketches  than 
he  could  at  home  ;  and  his  family  connections  in  Ger 
many  made  that  place  very  much  of  a  home  to  him. 
So  he  began  arranging  his  work  and  schemes  with 
reference  to  leaving  in  the  winter.  "  St.  John  "  would 
then  be  published,  and  he  would  have  cleared  away 
the  odds  and  ends  of  his  engagements. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  17,  1866. 

We  won't  give  up  the  hope  of  your  coming  yet.  There  are 
still  six  weeks  here  of  the  loveliest  autumn  weather. 

Your  proposal  chimes  in  very  well  with  my  own  plans,  so  I 
should  not  wonder  if  we  could  come  to  an  agreement.  In  re 
turn  I  also  have  a  proposal  to  make,  and  the  whole  matter  will 
be  clearer  if  I  simply  tell  you  exactly  how  I  am  situated  and 
what  my  plans  are,  the  Lord  willing,  for  the  next  two  years. 

I  have  been  working  very  hard  for  some  years  past  to  acquire 
enough  property  to  give  me  a  tolerably  certain  income,  sufficient 
for  both  needs  and  tastes,  and  an  ample  provision  for  both  wife 
and  child  in  case  of  my  death.  The  war  set  me  back,  but  I  have 
got  on  fortunately,  on  the  whole,  and  hope  to  come  out  fair  and 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  463 

square,  with  a  light  heart  and  a  clear  conscience,  on  the  31st  of 
December,  1866.  My  great  ambition  has  been  to  give  up  lectur 
ing  entirely,  and  only  write  the  things  which  I  feel  I  can  best  do. 
I  don't  need  the  pecuniary  spur,  and  can  always  accomplish 
more  when  I  don't  feel  it.  Now,  I  propose  first  to  take  a  year's 
holiday,  going  to  Europe  next  February,  and  returning  in  the 
spring  of  1868.  I  intend,  also,  to  accomplish  a  long-cherished 
desire,  and  visit  a  number  of  the  most  picturesque  and  least 
known  corners  and  by-ways  of  Europe.  What  do  you  say  to  a 
series  of  articles  for  the  "  Atlantic,"  similar  in  manner  to  the 
Russian  sketches  ?  Sub  rosa,  these  are  some  of  the  places  in 
my  mind  :  Friesland  (Peasant  Life)  ;  Castle  Kyffhauser  (Bar- 
barossa)  ;  Auvergne  ;  the  Republic  of  Andorre  (Pyrenees)  ; 
Majorca  ;  the  Monastery  of  Montserrat  ;  Gruyere  and  the  other 
Cheese  Valleys  of  Switzerland  ;  Elba  ;  Girgenti  (Sicily)  ;  Up 
per  Campagna  and  Volscian  Mountains  ;  Brittany. 

The  series  would  commence  in  July  or  August  next.  I  want 
to  make  some  arrangement  anent  them  this  fall. 

Now  as  to  the  novel.  I  have  two  good  subjects,  one  of  which 
bothers  me  in  regard  to  construction,  and  will  require  a  good 
year  to  work  over  in  my  head  before  I  begin  to  write.  About 
the  end  of  1868  was  the  time  I  set  (mentally)  to  have  it  written 
and  printed.  It  must  be  completed  from  end  to  end  before  any 
part  of  it  goes  out  of  my  hands.  If  I  publish  serially,  at  least 
I  won't  write  serially.  I  understand  that  the  sum  you  offer  is  for 
the  .publication  in  the  "Atlantic,"  the  privilege  of  issuing  the 
book  not  covering  the  copyright  thereon.  The  reverse  would  be 
simply  asking  me  to  lose  money,  which  of  course  you  can't  mean. 
The  question  of  copyright  for  the  book,  and  arrangements  for 
adding  it,  during  the  Jive  years  (an  important  particular),  to  the 
complete  series  of  my  prose  works,  remain  to  be  settled.  With 
regard  to  the  novel,  I  expect  to  have  one  ready  in  two  years 
from  now  ;  a  work  illustrating  a  phase  of  American  life  which  in 
terests  me  profoundly,  and  which  I  want  to  make  better  than  the 
former  ones.  Your  offer,  as  I  understand  it,  is  what  has  been 
offered  and  accepted  in  other  cases,  and  therefore  we  should  not 
quarrel  over  that  point. 

I  must  have  my  rest  and  recreation  first,  after  nearly  four 
years  of  unremitting  labor,  and  then  I  shall  take  hold  with  fresh 
spirit,  all  serious  worries  being  left  behind  me.  My  ruling  pas 
sion,  as  an  author,  is  to  do  something  better,  —  to  overcome,  by 

VOL.   II.  4 


464  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

hard  work  and  honest  study,  the  disadvantages  of  early  senti 
mentality  and  shallowness.  I  am  just  beginning  to  "feel  my 
oats." 

By  the  bye,  while  in  Germany  I  shall  go  on  with  the  transla 
tion  of  "  Faust."  My  wife  is  acquainted  with  Frau  von  Goethe, 
whom  we  shall  visit,  and  I  expect  to  gather  together  a  deal  of 
interesting  material  about  Part  II.  I  have  already  done  nearly 
half  of  Part  I.  I  want  to  do  for  friendship  ("  Faust ")  what 
Petrarch  (Longfellow)  has  done  for  love  (Dante).  Will  you 
give  me  three  volumes  in  4to  when  the  work  is  completed  ? 

Now,  what  do  you  say  to  my  programme  ?  I  suppose  the 
sketches  will  make  fifteen  or  twenty  pages  apiece,  and  there  may 
be  twelve  or  fifteen  of  'em.  Will  that  be  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  ?  Also,  as  to  arranging  to  include  the  novel  in  my  series 
of  works,  because  there  is  a  steady  sale  of  sets  of  the  latter. 

This  is  as  much  as  you  can  read  at  one  pull,  so  good-by. 

TO   JERVIS    M°ENTEE. 
KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  25,  1866. 

I  was  delighted  to  get  your  letter  yesterday,  and,  to  prove 
the  interest  I  take  in  your  plans,  I  reply  without  delay.  We 
are  going  to  New  York  about  the  middle  of  October,  but  if  we 
can  manage  to  run  up  to  Rondout  for  one  evening  it  will  hardly 
be  before  the  15th.  Don't  count  on  it  too  positively,  and  carry 
out  your  own  sketching  tour  without  reference  to  us. 

My  plans  for  the  European  tour  are  tolerably  well  fixed,  and 
I  hope  the  Lord  will  graciously  permit  me  to  carry  them  into 
execution  ;  for,  as  proposed,  they  will  give  me  rest,  refreshment, 
and  enjoyment.  We  want  to  leave  in  February,  so  as  to  reach 
Gotha  by  the  10th  of  March,  at  the  latest.  In  April  we  shall 
make  a  leisurely  journey  southward  through  the  Tyrol,  spend  a 
month  in  Venice,  and  then  go  to  my  sister  in  Lausanne  for  an 
other  month.  After  running  over  to  Paris  to  see  the  exhibition, 
we  shall  be  back  in  Gotha  towards  the  end  of  June.  We  have 
already  written  to  engage  our  former  cottage  in  the  mountains 
for  the  months  of  July  and  August.  In  September  we  '11  go 
by  way  of  Switzerland  to  Italy,  spend  the  fall  in  Florence,  the 
winter  in  Naples,  and  the  spring  in  Rome.  Towards  the  end  of 
summer  (1868)  we  shall  return  to  America.  I  have  made  a  lit 
erary  engagement  for  detached  sketches  of  out-o'-the-way  cor 
ners  of  Europe,  and  must  therefore  make  a  number  of  brief 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  465 

and  picturesque  excursions.  This  engagement  will  pay  half  my 
expenses,  and  is  therefore  not  to  be  slighted.  Moreover,  I  shall 
sketeh  as  much  as  possible,  one  article  a  month  taking  up  very 
little  of  my  time.  I  hope  to  have  a  good  long  holiday,  doing 
only  what  I  like  best  to  do.  It  will  not  be  idleness,  but  a  cessa 
tion  of  active,  steady  work,  in  which  I  shall  insensibly  accumu 
late  a  deal  of  material.  You  understand  this. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

CEDAKCROFT,  October  4,  1866. 

All  unexpectedly  to-day  came  a  dozen  "  Pictures."  I  want 
simply  to  say  how  delighted  I  am  with  the  whole  —  what  d'  you 
call  it  ?  —  mise  en  scene  ?  "  Getting  up  "  is  too  commonplace  and 
prosy  an  expression  for  this  (externally)  delicious  book.  It  can't 
be  improved  except  in  one  slight  particular,  —  the  lettering  of 
the  title  on  the  back  ;  and  that  is  a  matter  of  personal  taste.  The 
paper  is  of  the  right  quality,  has  the  right  tint,  and  the  type  is 
supreme. 

TO   HENRY  W.   LONGFELLOW. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  Sunday,  December  30,  1866. 
It  has  always  been  my  rule  to  obey  a  genuine  impulse,  and  I 
so  strongly  feel  the  desire  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  that  I  do 
not  ask  myself  whether  you  will  care  to  hear  them.  I  could  not 
tell  you  when  I  was  at  Cambridge  how  much,  how  very  much,  I 
was  cheered  and  strengthened  by  your  praise  of  my  poem  ;  nor 
could  you  well  understand  the  value  of  your  words  to  me  at  this 
time,  without  a  little  confession  of  my  own.  In  the  first  place, 
then,  let  me  say  that  nearly  everything  which  I  have  published, 
up  to  last  year,  seems  to  me  more  or  less  crude  and  unsatisfac 
tory.  My  former  works  are  simply  so  many  phases  of  an  educa 
tion  which  circumstances  have  compelled  me  to  acquire  in  the 
sight  of  the  public.  I  had,  in  fact,  very  little  early  education, 
except  that  of  travel  ;  I  began  to  publish  (it  was  inevitable) 
much  too  soon;  and,  moreover,  I  am  descended  from  two  hun 
dred  years  of  Quaker  farmers,  whose  transmitted  slowness  of  ma 
turity  I  have  hardly  yet  overcome.  The  artistic  sense  was  long 
dormant,  and  is  only  at  present  becoming  fairly  active  :  I  am, 
perhaps,  ten  years  behind  a  man  who  has  had  more  favorable  an 
tecedents  and  opportunities.  I  have  worked  earnestly  and  faith 
fully  during  the  past  three  or  four  years,  and  finally  come  to 
look  upon  the  ventures  of  this  year  (my  "  Story  of  Kennett " 


466  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

and  "  Picture  of  St.  John  ")  as  being  destined  to  decide  the  ques 
tion  whether  I  was  to  have  any  place  in  our  literature.  The 
poem,  I  knew,  could  not  be  popular,  and  so  I  looked  only  to  the 
verdict  of  the  poets  who  should  read  it.  I  can  write  for  myself 
alone,  and  should  probably  always  write,  though  no  one  should 
read  ;  but  I  feel  a  thoroughly  joyous  activity  of  mind,  and 
know  that  I  do  better  things  when  I  am  encouraged  by  the 
"  well  done  ! "  of  brother  authors.  Never  before  in  my  life  have 
I  received  such  hearty,  substantial  cheer  as  during  my  recent 
visit  to  Boston.  I  feel  now  as  if  I  had,  at  last,  a  little  solid 
ground  under  my  feet,  —  as  if  the  long  Wanderjahre  were  past, 
and  I  could  begin  to  build  a  house.  I  have  always  estimated  my 
former  successes  (or  what  were  considered  such)  at  their  true 
value,  and  have  waited  patiently  for  twenty  years  for  the  wel 
come  of  the  masters.  When  you  praised  the  poem  for  the  very 
qualities  I  aimed  to  reach,  you  confirmed  the  hopes  of  my  life. 
There  is  no  very  serene  literary  atmosphere  in  New  York,  as  you 
doubtless  know,  and  I  get  little  help  or  encouragement  there  ; 
but  I  do  not  need  it  now. 

I  shall  try  to  do  better  things  in  the  future,  taking  a  new  de 
parture  from  this  point.  There  is  still  time,  with  life  and 
health,  to  atone  for  the  imperfections  of  the  past.  I  shall  never 
forget  how  much  I  owe  to  you  (and  to  Lowell  also)  in  this  self- 
appointed  crisis.  But  enough  of  this  ;  I  am  presuming  a  good 
deal  on  your  friendship  to  write  so  much.  I  kept  your  book  for 
the  Christmas-tree,  where  my  wife  had  a  surprise  as  well  as  a 
delight  on  finding  it.  She  bids  me  thank  you  most  heartily  for 
your  kind  remembrance  of  her.  A  Happy  New  Year  to  you  all ! 

TO  J.   B.  PHILLIPS. 

CEDARCEOFT,  January  30,  1867. 

I  only  reached  home  last  night  after  two  weeks  among  the 
snow-drifts  [on  a  lecturing  tour],  and  write  immediately,  because 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  again  have  time,  in  the  hurry  and  rush 
of  preparation  for  departure.  We  sail  on  the  9th  of  February, 
and  shall  be  absent  a  year  and  a  half,  mostly  in  Italy.  I  am 
somewhat  fagged  and  worn  from  my  labors  during  the  past  five 
or  six  years,  and  must  have  a  holiday  before  undertaking  the 
more  important  literary  labors  which  I  have  proposed  to  my 
self. 

I  am  very  glad  you  like  the  "  St.  John."     It  has  done  more 


THE  PICTURE   OF  ST.  JOHN.  467 

for  me  with  the  authors  than  anything  I  ever  wrote.  Longfel 
low  said  to  me,  "  You  have  written  a  great  poem,  —  noble,  sus 
tained,  and  beautiful  from  beginning  to  end."  Bryant  wrote  me 
the  most  charming  letter  about  it.  Lowell  says  that  no  Amer 
ican  poem  except  the  "  Golden  Legend  "  can  match  it  in  finish 
and  sustained  power.  The  "  London  Athenaeum  "  says  about  the 
same  thing.  In  fact,  it  has  at  last  procured  me  admission  into 
the  small  company  of  American  poets  who  have  some  chance  of 
life.  It  never  can  be  popular  (in  the  ordinary  sense),  but  it  will 
be  always  liked,  I  think,  by  the  few  who  make  fame  for  an 
author.  I  feel  deeply,  profoundly  satisfied,  but  not  elated.  I 
have  now  a  little  solid  ground  under  my  feet,  and  can  take  a 
fresh  departure,  having  left  the  crude,  educational  phase  (to 
which  nearly  all  my  former  works  belong)  behind  me.  Hence 
the  need  of  rest  before  I  do  any  more  serious  work. 

The  recognition  by  his  fellow-poets  was  all  that  Bay 
ard  Taylor  asked.  He  wished  to  be  judged  by  his 
peers,  and  the  hearty,  unequivocal  verdict  by  his  eld 
ers  was  exceedingly  grateful  to  him.  "  It  very  rarely 
happens,"  wrote  Mr.  Bryant,  "  that  I  finish  a  book  at 
a  sitting,  but  I  did  it  with  yours.  You  may  judge, 
therefore,  of  the  degree  to  which  it  interested  me.  I 
congratidate  you  on  having  produced  the  best  of  your 
longer  poems,  and  that  is  no  small  praise.  Your  suc 
cess  has  been  such  as  to  justify  all  the  pains  which,  as 
you  intimate,  you  have  bestowed  upon  the  work.  The 
Proem  it  would  be  injurious  to  the  rest  of  the  volume 
to  call  the  best  part  of  it,  —  and  I  do  not  call  it  so, 
—  but  it  is  so  charmingly  written  that  I  have  recurred 
to  it  several  times  after  having  finished  the  reading 
of  the  other  cantos.  Proems  are  generally  just  a  little 
dull,  but  this  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  an  excep 
tion." 

He  had  secured  a  repute  as  a  traveler  and  popularity 
as  a  novelist.  To  be  known  as  a  poet  by  poets  was  far 
sweeter  to  him,  and  joined  with  it  was  the  conscious- 


468  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

ness  that  he  was  fulfilling  his  destiny,  expressing  his 
power.  "  I  think  it  must  be  an  American  gift,"  writes 
Dr.  Holmes,  "  to  unite  such  different  powers  as  those 
which  belong  to  the  traveler  and  the  poet,  and  you  are 
one  of  the  most  American  of  Americans,  as  it  seems  to 
me."  Another  poet  was  then  just  bringing  out  one 
of  his  group  of  poems.  "I  must  beg  Fields,"  he 
writes,  "  to  send  thee  the  proof-sheets  of  '  The  Tent  on 
the  Beach.'  And  I  here  beg  pardon  for  the  friendly 
license  of  using  thee  as  one  of  the  imaginary  trio  on 
the  sea-shore.  .  .  .  The  '  St.  John '  is  a  poem  which 
grows  upon  me  more  and  more.  I  marvel  at  its  ex 
quisite  finish  and  beauty.  It  is  a  poem  for  poets  and 
painters."  On  the  same  sheet,  Mr.  Whittier  copied 
a  stanza  from  an  earlier  poem,  "The  Last  Walk 
in  Autumn,"  in  which  he  had  already  enshrined  his 
friend :  — 

"  Here,  too,  of  answering  love  secure, 

Have  I  not  welcomed  to  my  hearth 
The  gentle  pilgrim  troubadour, 

Whose  songs  have  girdled  half  the  earth  ; 
Whose  pages,  like  the  magic  mat 
Whereon  the  Eastern  lover  sat, 
Have  borne  me  over  Rhine-land's  purple  vines, 
And  Nubia's  tawny  sands,  and  Phrygia's  mountain  pines  I " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

1867-1868. 

Returned  to  warm  existence,  —  even  as  one 
Sentenced,  then  blotted  from  the  headsman's  book, 
Accepts  with  doubt  the  life  again  begun, — 
I  leave  the  duress  of  my  couch,  and  look 
Through  Casa  Guidi  windows  to  the  sun. 

Casa  Guidi  Windows. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  had  been  looking  forward  with 
feverish  impatience  to  the  holiday  which  he  felt  he 
had  earned  and  knew  he  needed.  "  Oh,  how  I  long," 
he  writes  on  the  eve  of  sailing,  "  for  the  rest  and  recre 
ation  of  Europe  !  My  Kussian  trip  was  only  substitut 
ing  one  kind  of  labor  and  anxiety  for  another.  I  have 
really  had  no  holiday  since  I  came  home  in  1858,  and 
since  then  I  have  published  nine  volumes,  lectured 
exactly  six  hundred  times,  built  a  house,  barn,  stable, 
and  other  out-buildings,  and  paid  off  nearly  all  my 
debts.  But  for  a  hopeful  and  elastic  temperament,  a 
gift  of  God,  I  could  n't  have  done  it.  I  confess  to 
feeling  fagged  and  weary,  to  a  mighty  craving  for  fresh 
woods  and  pastures  new.  My  blood  is  thick  and  slug 
gish ;  I  sleep  badly,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  and 
have  a  general  sense  of  discomfort,  though  I  can't  put 
my  finger  on  one  ailing  spot." 

For  the  first  time,  also,  he  found  writing  irksome. 
Work  which  before  had  been  easy  now  lay  upon  his 
mind  as  a  weight,  and  he  dragged  through  a  few  lee- 


470  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

tures  and  toiled  with  difficulty  over  a  simple  article, 
struggling  to  "leave  no  engagement  unfulfilled.  His 
letters  to  the  "  Tribune  "  from  Colorado  were  pub 
lished  in  a  thin  volume  by  Mr.  Putnam  at  the  end  of 
January,  and  at  last,  on  the  9th  of  February,  1867,  he 
sailed  for  England  with  his  wife  and  daughter  and  a 
lady  friend  who  accompanied  them.  Once  more  he 
tasted  the  freedom  and  luxurious  rest  of  an  ocean  voy 
age.  He  needed  only  this  to  give  him  a  return  of 
hopefulness,  although  he  knew  better  at  a  later  date 
that  he  could  not  so  easily  recover  a  strength  which 
had  been  overtasked.  He  called  his  proposed  sojourn 
in  Europe  a  holiday,  and  such  he  intended  it  to  be ; 
meaning  to  give  his  time  to  his  friends  in  Gotha  and 
elsewhere,  to  amuse  himself  with  his  painting,  and  to 
ramble  into  corners  of  the  continent  which  he  had  not 
yet  visited.  He  could  not  be  absolutely  free,  however. 
Those  debts  which  he  had  nearly  paid  still  hung  over 
him,  and  though  he  had  made  as  careful  provision 
for  his  absence  as  he  could  his  establishment  at  Cedar- 
croft  followed  him  in  waking  hours  and  dreams.  He 
felt  the  necessity,  also,  of  turning  his  journey  into 
papers  which  should  partly  provide  his  traveling  ex 
penses.  So  he  had  planned  letters  to  the  "  Tribune," 
and  the  series  of  papers  for  the  "Atlantic  "  which  he 
had  outlined  to  Mr.  Fields. 

Labor  and  worries  aside,  he  anticipated  great  pleas 
ure  from  his  stay  abroad,  and  could  not  help  knowing 
that  he  was  in  better  condition  than  ever  for  enjoy 
ing  Europe.  Since  his  last  visit,  when  he  had  made 
good  friends  amongst  people  whom  he  valued,  he  had 
shown  that  he  was  himself  a  man  well  worth  knowing 
and  valuing.  His  literary  work  had  set  him  steadily 
forward,  and  his  "Picture  of  St.  John,"  especially, 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  471 

had  been  his  announcement  of  his  own  conscious  posi 
tion  in  literature.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  to  discover 
how  large  a  welcome  he  had  earned.  His  short  stay 
in  England  was  crowded  with  pleasures  which  the 
best  English  hospitality  afforded  him,  so  that  he  had 
scarcely  an  opportunity  to  record  his  experience  until 
he  was  once  more  in  his  German  home. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  March  11,  1867. 

No  chance  to  write  a  word  to  you  sooner,  but  as  no  letter  has 
yet  arrived  from  you  I  may  still  be  beforehand.  I  have  a  great 
deal  to  say,  and  scarcely  know  whether  I  can  tell  you  everything 
in  this  letter.  .  .  .  We  landed  at  Southampton  in  heavenly  May 
weather,  and  I  determined  to  visit  Farringford  before  going  on 
to  London.  So  I  wrote  at  once  to  Tennyson,  proposing  a  visit  of 
an  hour  or  two.  Next  morning  came  a  friendly  reply  from  Mrs. 
T.,  saying  that  there  was  a  room  ready  for  us,  and  we  must 
make  a  longer  visit.  M.  and  I  crossed  to  Cowes  and  Newport, 
and  took  a  "  fly  "  to  Farringford,  distant  twelve  miles  ;  a  glorious 
drive  across  the  Isle  of  Wight,  between  ivied  hedges  and  past 
gardens  of  laurel  and  lauristinus  in  blossom.  Green  meadows, 
cowslips,  daisies,  and  hyacinths,  —  think  of  that  for  February 
21st !  I  found  Farringford  wonderfully  improved  :  the  little  park 
is  a  gem  of  gardening  art.  The  magnificent  Roman  ilexes  in 
front  of  the  house  are  finer  than  any  I  saw  in  Italy.  We  arrived 
about  three  o'clock,  and  were  ushered  into  the  drawing-room. 
The  house  has  been  refurnished,  and  a  great  many  pictures  and 
statues  added  since  I  was  there.  In  a  minute  in  came  Tennyson, 
cordial  as  an  old  friend,  followed  by  his  wife.  In  Tennyson  him 
self  I  could  see  no  particular  change.  He  did  not  seem  older 
than  when  I  saw  him  last.  We  walked  through  the  park  and 
garden  ;  then  M.  returned  to  the  house,  while  he  and  I  went  up 
on  the  downs,  and  walked  for  miles  along  the  chalk  cliffs  above 
the  sea.  He  was  delightfully  free  and  confidential,  and  I  wish  I 
could  write  to  you  much  of  what  he  said  ;  but  it  was  so  in 
wrought  with  high  philosophy  and  broad  views  of  life  that  a 
fragment  here  and  there  would  not  fairly  represent  him.  He 
showed  me  all  his  newly  acquired  territory  ;  among  the  rest,  a 


472  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

great  stretch  of  wheat-fields  bought  for  him  by  "  Enoch  Arden." 
We  dined  at  six  in  a  quaint  room  hung  with  pictures,  and  then 
went  to  the  drawing-room  for  dessert.  Tennyson  and  I  retired 
to  his  study  at  the  top  of  the  house,  lit  pipes,  and  talked  of  po 
etry.  He  asked  me  if  I  could  read  his  "  Boadicea."  I  thought 
I  could.  "  Read  it,  and  let  me  see  ! "  said  he.  "  I  would  rather 
hear  you  read  it ! "  I  answered.  Thereupon  he  did  so,  chanting 
the  lumbering  lines  with  great  unction.  I  spoke  of  the  idyl  of 
Guinevere  as  being  perhaps  his  finest  poem,  and  said  that  I 
could  not  read  it  aloud  without  my  voice  breaking  down  at  cer 
tain  passages.  "  Why,  I  can  read  it,  and  keep  my  voice  !  "  he 
exclaimed  triumphantly.  This  I  doubted,  and  he  agreed  to  try, 
after  we  went  down  to  our  wives.  But  the  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  produce  a  magnum  of  wonderful  sherry,  thirty  years  old, 
which  had  been  sent  him  by  a  poetic  wine-dealer.  Such  wine  I 
never  tasted.  "  It  was  meant  to  be  drunk  by  Cleopatra,  or  Cath 
arine  of  Russia,"  said  Tennyson.  We  had  two  glasses  apiece, 
when  he  said,  "  To-night  you  shall  help  me  drink  one  of  the  few 
bottles  of  my  Waterloo,  —  1815."  The  bottle  was  brought,  and 
after  another  glass  all  around  Tennyson  took  up  the  "  Idyls  of 
the  King."  His  reading  is  a  strange,  monotonous  chant,  with  un 
expected  falling  inflections,  which  I  cannot  describe,  but  can  imi 
tate  exactly.  It  is  very  impressive.  In  spite  of  myself  I  be 
came  very  much  excited  as  he  went  on.  Finally,  when  Arthur 
forgives  the  Queen,  Tennyson's  voice  fairly  broke.  I  found 
tears  on  my  cheeks,  and  M.  and  Mrs.  Tennyson  were  crying,  one 
on  either  side  of  me.  He  made  an  effort  and  went  on  to  the 
end,  closing  grandly.  "  How  can  you  say,"  I  asked  (referring 
to  previous  conversation),  "  that  you  have  no  surety  of  permanent 
fame  ?  This  poem  will  only  die  with  the  language  in  which  it 
is  written."  Mrs.  Tennyson  started  up  from  her  couch.  "  It  is 
true  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have  told  Alfred  the  same  thing." 

After  that  we  went  up  to  the  garret  to  smoke  and  talk. 
Tennyson  read  the  "Hylas"  of  Theocritus  in  Greek,  his  own 
"Northern  Farmer,"  and  Andrew  MarveU's  « Coy  Mistress."  .  .  . 
We  parted  at  two  o'clock,  and  met  again  at  nine  in  the  breakfast 
room.  I  had  arranged  to  leave  at  noon,  so  there  were  only  three 
hours  left,  but  I  had  them  with  him  on  the  lawn  and  in  the  nook 
under  the  roof.  .  .  .  Tennyson  said  at  parting,  "  The  gates  are 
always  open  to  you."  His  manner  was  altogether  more  cordial 
and  intimate  than  at  my  first  visit.  He  took  up  the  acquaintance 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  473 

where  it  first  broke  off,  and  had  forgotten  no  word  (neither  had 
I)  of  our  conversation  ten  years  ago.  When  I  spoke  of  certain 
things  in  his  poetry  which  I  specially  valued,  he  said  more  than 
once,  "  But  the  critics  blame  me  for  just  that.  It  is  only  now 
and  then  a  man  like  yourself  who  sees  what  I  meant  to  do."  He 
is  very  sensitive  to  criticism,  I  find,  but  perhaps  not  more  than 
the  rest  of  us  ;  only  one  sees  it  more  clearly  in  another.  Our 
talk  was  to  me  delightful  ;  it  was  as  free  and  frank  as  if  you 
had  been  in  his  place.  ...  I  felt,  when  I  left  Farringford,  that 
I  had  a  friend's  right  to  return  again. 

Soon  after  reaching  London,  I  called  on  dear  old  Barry  Corn 
wall,  who  has  taken  a  great  liking  to  Lorry  Graham.  Mrs.  Proc 
ter  invited  both  of  us  and  our  wives  to  a  literary  soiree  at  their 
house.  In  the  mean  time  Lorry  took  me  with  him  to  call  on 
Matthew  Arnold.  He  is  a  man  to  like,  if  not  love,  at  first  sight. 
His  resemblance  to  George  Curtis  struck  both  of  us.  A  little 
more  stoutly  built,  more  irregularly  masculine  features,  but  the 
same  general  character  of  man,  with  the  same  full,  mellow  voice. 
After  Thackeray,  I  think  I  should  soon  come  to  like  him  better 
than  any  other  Englishman.  His  eyes  sparkled  when  I  told  him 
that  I  always  kept  his  poems  on  my  library  table.  He  said  they 
were  not  popular,  and  he  was  always  a  little  surprised  when  any 
one  expressed  a  particular  liking  for  them.  I  did  not  make  a 
long  visit,  knowing  that  he  was  run  down  with  government  work. 

Then  I  went  to  Browning,  who  had  sent  me  a  pleasant  note  of 
invitation.  He  has  gray  hair  and  beard,  but  has  lost  none  of  his 
vigorous  life.  He  had  "  St.  John  "  on  the  table.  He  has  a  long 
poem  on  the  stocks,  —  an  Italian  subject,  told  in  I  don't  know 
how  many  thousand  lines.  He  called  up  his  boy,  who  was  hard 
at  work  with  a  tutor,  reading  up  for  Oxford,  to  shake  hands  with 
me,  —  a  lusty  young  fellow,  I  was  glad  to  see,  a  good  rower, 
horseman,  and  swimmer.  In  the  evening,  at  Procter's,  we  met 
Browning  again,  and  Arnold,  Lord  Houghton  (Milnes),  Dante 
Rossetti,  and  many  others.  Browning  professed  to  remember  M. 
from  Rome.  It  was  a  lively,  crowded,  pleasant  party. 

Lorry  and  I  were  to  breakfast  the  next  morning  with  Lord 
Houghton.  When  we  arrived  we  found  our  host  in  conversation 
with  a  plain,  red-haired,  farmer-like  individual  whom  he  intro 
duced  to  us  as  the  Duke  of  Argyll.  The  latter  said  to  me,  "  Do 
you  know  that  you  were  the  cause  of  Tennyson's  visit  to  Nor 
way  ?  After  he  read  your  book  he  could  not  rest  until  he  went 


474  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

there  himself."  Then  entered,  in  succession,  Froude,  the  histo 
rian,  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  (Wilberforce),  Lord  Wentworth,  the 
grandson  of  Byron,  with  a  Byronic  profile  (a  nice  young  man, 
whom  I  liked  exceedingly),  the  Bishop  of  St.  Davids,  Venables 
(the  lawyer  and  publicist),  and  Sir  William  Stirling  Maxwell, 
author  of  the  "  Cloister  Life  of  Charles  V."  It  was  a  charm 
ing  breakfast :  only  an  old  butler  and  a  page  waited,  the  guests 
helping  each  other, — the  conversation  a  mosaic  of  cheerful,  cor 
dial  chat.  I  sat  between  the  Duke  and  the  Bishop  of  Oxford, 
and  the  latter  kept  my  plate  constantly  supplied  with  butter  and 
salt.  Froude  told  us  of  his  researches  in  the  Spanish  archives, 
and  the  Duke  discussed  Dixon's  book  on  America. 

I  had  to  tear  myself  away  from  entrees  to  clubs  and  invitations 
to  dinner,  and  leave  London.  I  might  have  floated  for  a  month 
or  so  (with  money  and  inclination)  on  the  top  wave  of  London 
society,  but  after  the  poets  it  would  have  been  a  descent.  One 
thing,  however,  does  pleasantly  tickle  my  vanity  :  I  am  weak 
enough  to  feel  it,  yet  frank  enough  to  confess  it.  That  is,  that 
I  have  made  myself  a  footing  in  England,  in  the  last  four  or  five 
years.  Triibner  told  me  that  "  St.  John "  has  been  greatly 
praised  in  all  the  reviews  ;  his  stock  of  the  poem  was  immedi 
ately  sold,  and  he  had  ordered  a  fresh  supply  from  Boston.  He 
considers  it  one  of  the  most  successful  of  recent  American  books. 
Hotten  (the  publisher)  told  me  the  same  thing.  From  the  au 
thors  I  had  the  kindest  and  most  cheering  words.  I  need  not 
tell  you  how  grateful  is  this  knowledge  to  me,  for  you  can  easily 
guess  it. 

We  went  one  night  to  hear  Dickens  read  "  David  Copperfield." 
Sothern  gave  us  a  box  for  his  "  Dundreary  "  another  night,  and 
again  we  dined  with  Anne  Thackeray  and  her  sister.  A.  T.  is 
one  of  the  dearest  and  best  girls  in  the  world.  It  was  like  old 
times  to  see  her  again.  She  gave  me  a  fine  portrait  of  her  father. 
She  stands  by  "  Hannah  Thurston,"  which  she  says  she  knows  by 
heart.  On  the  whole,  I  never  had  a  richer  eight  days  than  those 
in  London.  Remember,  all  this  is  private.  I  write  to  you  in 
stead  of  in  a  journal.  These  are  things  that  I  can't  publish,  yet 
wish  to  note  as  I  go  along.1 

1  By  a  sorry  mischance  this  letter  did  get  published.  It  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  newspaper  correspondent,  who  kept  it  long  enough  to  copy  the 
portion  relating  to  Mr.  Tennyson,  and  then,  without  asking  leave  of  the  au 
thor,  the  recipient,  or  conscience,  printed  it  as  a  lively  piece  of  literary 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  475 

We  came  hither  by  way  of  Brussels  and  Cologne,  stopping  a 
day  at  each  place.  It  was  spring  as  far  as  the  Rhine,  then  snow 
commenced,  and  we  came  here  in  midwinter.  .  .  .  To-day  the 
snows  have  nearly  disappeared,  and  we  begin  to  see  the  green 
plains.  .  .  .  M.'s  family  are  well,  and  delighted  to  have  us  back, 
and  I  think  we  shall  get  through  this  dismal  month  agreeably. 
I  begin  to  feel  quite  rejuvenated,  although  longing  for  movement 
in  the  open  air. 

M.  joins  me  in  dearest  love  to  you  and  L.  Would  you  could 
be  here  a  while  to  rest  your  busy  brain  !  It  is  late  at  night,  and 
I  must  close.  Pray  write  to  me  some  quiet  Sunday  morning, 
when  you  have  leisure,  and  write  me  all  the  news.  Recollect,  I 
am  absent  and  you  are  at  home,  so  your  letters  are  worth  the 
most.  Yale ! 

A  month  was  spent  at  Gotha  and  then  the  party 
went  to  Lausanne  to  visit  Bayard  Taylor's  oldest  sis 
ter  who  was  married  to  a  Swiss  gentleman  and  living 
there.  The  journey  thither  by  way  of  Niirnberg  and 
Munich  gave  Bayard  Taylor  an  opportunity  to  revive 
and  revise  former  impressions.  European  life,  in  many 
of  its  aspects,  was  now  so  familiar  to  him,  that  he  en 
joyed  a  new  pleasure  in  a  study  which  rested  on  the 
comparison  of  changes,  not  only  in  external  objects, 
but  in  his  own  attitude  toward  them.  "  I  am  more 
than  ever  convinced,"  he  wrote  in  one  of  his  "  Eandom 
Letters"  to  the  "Tribune,"  at  this  time,  "that  the 
best  pleasures  and  most  lasting  advantages  of  travel 
belong  not  to  the  first  or  second,  but  to  the  fourth  or 
fifth  visit  to  foreign  lands.  If  one  misses  the  enthu 
siasm,  the  exhilaration,  the  capacity  for  thoughtless 
enjoyment,  and  the  delightful  ignorance  of  youth,  on 

gossip.  Bayard  Taylor  heard  nothing  of  the  publication  until  he  learned 
it  in  a  roundabout  way  from  Mr.  Tennyson  himself,  who  was  naturally  an 
noyed.  But  Mr.  Tennyson's  cause  for  annoyance  was  momentary  beside 
the  rage  which  possessed  Bayard  Taylor  at  the  cruelly  false  position  in 
which  he  was  placed.  He  received  an  abject  apology  from  the  correspond 
ent,  and  he  made  an  explicit  statement  to  Mr.  Tennyson,  but  these  things 
could  not  give  his  wounded  pride  much  solace. 


476  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

the  other  hand,  one  has  less  of  uncertainty,  of  perplex 
ing  questions  to  solve ;  a  keener,  closer,  more  intelli 
gent  appreciation ;  a  far  wider  and  more  fruitful  field 
of  interest,  and  a  cultivated  perception  of  beauty,  which 
is  gratified  at  every  turn.  Let  the  years  go  by  unla- 
mented !  They  bring  more  than  they  take  away.  I 
prefer  the  tender,  familiar  interest  which  comes  from 
old  acquaintance,  to  the  pleasant  shock  of  love  at  first 
sight,  in  this  matter  of  travel.  What  if  some  celes 
tial  quality  has  vanished  from  the  azure  of  the  sky,  or 
the  fluid  gold  of  the  sunshine  ?  What  if  the  cuckoo's 
call  now  says  no  more  to  one  than  the  coo  of  our 
American  rain-dove  ?  ...  It  is  a  weak  affectation  to 
regret  the  illusions  perdues.  There  is  enough  in  Eu 
rope  that  —  brush,  and  whitewash,  and  deodorize  it 
as  we  may  —  retains  the  full  flavor  and  character  of 
the  Past ;  there  are  influences,  enriched  by  centuries 
of  transmission,  which  we  cannot  escape.  Quite  suffi 
cient  remains  to  satisfy  any  one  who  has  learned 
where  the  true  work  of  the  world  lies." 

Lausanne  was  a  convenient  point  from  which  to 
make  excursions,  and  offered  good  opportunities  for 
sketching.  Indeed  the  zest  with  which  Bayard  Tay 
lor  applied  himself  to  painting  at  this  time  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  intense  if  he  had  purposed 
to  drop  literature  and  betake  himself  to  the  other  art. 
He  painted  and  sketched  as  if  it  were  his  business, 
not  his  pastime.  He  took  a  special  jaunt,  which  is  re 
produced  in  the  first  of  his  series  in  the  "  Atlantic," 
the  very  agreeable  and  popular  sketch  of  "  The  Little 
Land  of  Appenzell."  Back  again  in  Lausanne  after 
this  journey,  which  was  one  of  great  refreshment,  he 
was  able  to  write  to  a  friend :  "  I  am  slowly  recover 
ing  my  freshness  and  elasticity  of  mind  and  body, 


BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE.  477 

and  begin  again  to  feel  the  old  sensation  of  rest  in 
work ;  but  I  intend  to  lie  fallow  as  much  as  possible 
while  away." 

He  spent  a  week  with  his  wife  in  Paris.  It  was  the 
year  of  the  Exhibition  and  he  made  the  art-collection 
the  theme  of  a  letter  to  the  "  Tribune,"  in  which  he 
wrote  with  frankness  and  hearty  interest  of  the  Amer 
ican  contributions.  He  visited  the  Pyrenees  and  Ma 
jorca  for  material  for  further  "  By- Ways,"  and  then 
joined  his  wife  and  daughter,  who  had  gone  on  to  Go- 
tha,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  summer  in  a  cottage  at 
Friedrichroda  near  Gotha,  where  he  busied  himself 
with  putting  his  material  into  shape. 

TO  JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

LAUSANNE,  June  26,  1867. 

Your  welcome  letter  came  a  month  ago  or  more,  as  I  was 
setting  out  on  my  southern  trip,  whence  I  have  but  just  returned. 
This  trip  has  been  in  the  highest  degree  successful.  I  have  vis 
ited  Majorca,  Minorca,  Montserrat,  crossed  Catalonia  by  difficult 
bridle-roads,  saw  the  little  republic  of  Andorre  (the  first  Amer 
ican  who  ever  did  see  it),  went  over  the  Pyrenees,  and  returned 
hither  by  way  of  the  Grande  Chartreuse  and  the  Chateau  Bay 
ard.  I  devoted  myself,  you  see,  entirely  to  out-of-the-way 
corners  of  Europe,  and  have  been  well  repaid.  I  come  back 
with  material  for  five  or  six  papers  for  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly," 
and  shall  commence  work  at  once.  In  four  or  five  days  from 
now  we  shall  be  installed  in  our  mountain  cottage  near  Gotha  for 
the  rest  of  the  summer,  where  I  shall  have  quiet  for  work,  so 
you  may  expect  an  article  very  soon  after  this  reaches  you.  I 
hope  the  "  Appenzell "  (forwarded  from  Paris  May  10th)  reached 
you  safely. 

I  do  not  expect  to  reach  home  before  next  summer  (1868),  and 
would  be  glad  if  this  could  be  said  in  the  newspapers,  in  order 
to  prevent  invitations  for  lectures  being  sent  across  the  water. 
Won't  you  please  send  one  of  your  boys  to  the  Secretary  of  the 
Boston  Mercantile  Library  Association  to  say  that  I  can't  lecture 
for  them  next  winter,  and  thus  save  me  a  letter  and  postage  ? 


478  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Other  invitations  come,  and  the  thing  is  a  nuisance.  I  feel  al 
ready  much  improved  by  my  holiday,  but  needed  it  even  more 
than  I  thought,  and  therefore  want  to  be  fully  rejuvenated  be 
fore  I  return.  I  make  good  use  of  my  time,  having  already 
forty  sketches  of  scenery,  in  addition  to  the  literary  material. 
I  intend  also  writing  some  poems  this  summer. 

I  'm  glad  you  think  the  "  St.  John  "  something  of  a  success  as 
a  publication.  I  think  it  will  repay  me  some  years  hence  better 
than  now,  but  I  am  very  well  satisfied.  Whittier's  success  1  is 
delightful  to  hear  :  I  'm  as  glad  of  it  as  if  the  book  were  mine 
own.  Time  is  just,  after  all ;  he  has  had  to  wait  for  a  long  time, 
but  now  the  recognition  comes  in  ample  measure.  The  "  Dante," 
I  am  sure,  will  be  a  grand  literary  success,  whatever  may  be 
the  sale  of  the  work.  We  Americans  make  better  translators 
than  the  English,  and  we  shall  drive  the  latter  out  of  the  field. 
In  the  coming  years,  Longfellow's  "  Dante  "  will  be  the  classic, 
and  Gary's  the  curiosity.  By  the  bye,  what  an  exquisite  poem 
of  Lowell  to  Longfellow  on  his  birthday  !  I  never  saw  any 
thing  finer  of  the  kind.  I  wish  I  could  get  an  "  Atlantic  "  oc 
casionally.  Could  it  be  sent  through  Barings  without  ruinous 
postage  ? 

We  expect  to  be  joined  by  the  Grahams  next  week  in  our  cot 
tage  ;  they  are  now  in  Sweden.  Until  September  I  shall  have  a 
rest  in  the  green  Thiiringian  land.  Ah,  could  the  trio  of  the 
"  Tent  on  the  Beach  "  be  together  there  !  How  pleasantly  you 
and  I  will  float  down  to  posterity,  each  holding  on  to  the  strong 
swimmer,  J.  G.  W.  ! 

M.  is  waiting  for  me  in  Gotha,  and  I  leave  here  to-morrow.  .  .  . 
I  find  that  with  every  time  I  go  abroad  more  and  more  of  me 
remains  at  home.  I  shall  not  keep  up  this  role  of  a  traveler 
much  longer. 

TO  E.   C.    STEDMAN. 

FEIEDRICHRODA  (m  THE  THURINGIAN  FOREST), 

July  30,  1867. 

.  .  .  The  Grahams  have  been  living  with  us  since  the  3d,  and 
will  stay  four  weeks  longer,  so  we  have  half  our  American  at 
mosphere  here  in  this  green  region  of  mountains  and  meadows, 
of  tinkling  herds  and  fairy  lore.  Our  cottage  has  a  flag-staff, 
and  on  that  staff  floats  the  American  flag  ;  inside  we  have  Ger 
man  lessons,  exercises  in  art,  beer,  wine,  occasional  trout,  visitors 
1  The  Tent  on  the  Beach  had  recently  been  published. 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  479 

from  Gotha,  chess,  and  my  papers  for  the  "  Atlantic,"  —  the  which 
I  am  now  working  upon,  to  the  delay  of  "  Faust." 

...  I  had  a  very  fatiguing,  but  wonderfully  fresh  and  inter 
esting  trip  to  the  Balearic  Islands  and  the  Pyrenees.  Three 
papers  thereanent  have  already  gone  to  Fields,  and  two  more 
are  to  follow.  I  don't  know  how  they  will  strike  you,  but  they 
are  certainly  better  than  my  "  Tribune  "  letters.  The  latter  are 
simply  written  to  keep  a  little  more  fire  under  the  pot,  and  will 
never  be  used  again.  Therefore  I  cannot  put  much  "life- 
blood  "  into  them,  but  I  don't  think  they  are  so  very  poor  as  to 
affect  my  reputation  as  a  writer.  They  are  plain,  easy  talks 
about  certain  little  matters  which  I  may  observe  from  time  to 
time,  and  some  of  them,  I  think,  will  interest  country  readers 
of  the  "  Tribune."  In  fact,  I  intend  them  chiefly  for  these  lat 
ter.  I  wish  you  would  read  my  "  Atlantic  "  articles  when  they 
appear,  and  then  tell  me  honestly  what  you  think  of  them.  I 
must  naturally  save  my  best  things  for  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly," 
not  only  because  it  pays  me  much  better,  but  because  a  de 
tached  sketch,  complete  in  itself,  is  more  agreeable  work  than 
newspaper  letters.  The  latter  are  always  stamped  ephemera)  no 
matter  who  writes  them. 

How  delighted  I  am  with  Whittier's  success  !  Fields  writes 
that  his  "  Tent  "  has  already  sold  20,000  copies.  Here  is  a  man 
who  has  waited  twenty-five  years  to  be  generally  appreciated. 
I  remember  when  his  name  was  never  mentioned  without  a 
sneer,  except  by  the  small  Abolition  clique.  In  England,  too, 
they  are  now  beginning  to  read  him  for  the  first  time.  In  fact, 
the  experience  of  most  authors  —  of  Tennyson,  Browning,  Emer 
son,  Hawthorne,  as  well  —  of  Matthew  Arnold  yet  —  ought  to  en 
courage  you  and  me.  What  endures  is  of  slow  growth.  I  think  a 
man  should  be  satisfied  to  let  the  first  twenty  years  of  his  lit 
erary  activity  go  for  foundation-walls,  if  they  will  only  support 
a  pillar  or  two  above  ground  afterwards.  .  .  . 

When  the  summer  was  past  Bayard  Taylor  set  his 
face  toward  Italy,  purposing  to  spend  the  winter  there 
with  his  family.  They  went  to  Munich,  over  the 
Brenner  Pass,  and  after  lingering  a  day  or  two  kept 
on  to  Verona.  On  the  last  day  of  September  they 
were  in  Venice.  Here  they  stayed  nearly  the  whole 

VOL.  II.  5 


480  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

month.  They  formed  new  acquaintances  among  the 
artists  in  Mr.  Yewell  and  Mr.  Loop,  who  had  studios 
there,  and  Bayard  Taylor  devoted  himself  to  painting 
with  increased  ardor. 

TO   JERVIS    M°ENTEE. 

VENICE,  Sunday,  October  20,  1867. 

How  is  it  that  I  have  not  written  to  you  before  ?  Not  from 
lack  of  thinking  of  you  and  talking  about  you,  and  resolving, 
over  and  over  again,  to  sit  and  talk  with  you  across  the  ocean  : 
but  somehow  writing  duties  and  sketching  enthusiasms  and 
movements  to  and  fro  came  between  the  purpose  and  the  deed. 
So  here  I  am,  in  the  same  position  before  you  as  Emperor  Bar- 
barossa  was  six  hundred  years  ago,  around  in  St.  Mark's,  before 
Pope  Alexander,  —  on  my  knees,  waiting  for  you  to  put  your 
foot  on  my  neck.  Hang  explanations  and  apologies  !  If  you 
imagine  that  I  have  in  any  way  forgotten  you,  it  only  proves 
that  you  don't  thoroughly  know  me.  I  did  appoint  an  evening 
in  Paris  to  tell  you  how  your  pictures  were  hung,  and  would 
have  done  so  but  for  a  visit  which  came  just  as  the  portfolio 
was  opened  and  the  pen  on  its  way  to  the  inkstand.  Six  months 
later,  —  no,  five,  —  I  resume  the  suspended  duty. 

First,  about  the  pictures.  The  "  Virginia  "  was  in  the  avenue, 
outside  the  gallery,  —  on  the  line,  but  with  hardly  space  enough 
to  look  at  it  properly.  I  did  n't  think  that  a  very  good  place 
for  it.  The  "  October  "  was  a  little  above  the  line,  in  the  gal 
lery,  with  a  good  light  coming  from  the  right  hand.  The 
"  Woods  of  —  Ass  "  —  something  was  below  the  line,  under 
Church's  rainbow,  and  beside  Gifford's  twilight  picture,  in  a  good 
light,  but  the  two  neighbors  made  it  look  a  little  pale  and  cold. 
On  the  whole,  however,  you  fared  tolerably  well.  The  two  latter 
pictures  were  where  everybody  would  be  sure  to  see  them,  and  I 
saw  lots  of  people  looking  at  them.  In  point  of  harmony,  you 
and  Gifford  and  Kensett  (in  my  opinion)  beat  all  the  landscapes 
in  the  Exposition.  I  remarked,  however,  in  all  American  pic 
tures,  a  lack  of  something,  —  not  exactly  boldness  or  force  of 
color,  but  something  of  the  kind.  The  forms  have  not  the  same 
plastic  strength  as  those  of  the  European  artists.  They  stand  in 
a  sweet,  poetic,  Arcadian  atmosphere,  which  lulls  and  delights 
you,  but  does  not  brace  and  invigorate  like  some  things  I  saw. 


BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE.  481 

There  was  the  edge  of  a  forest  by  Rousseau,  in  which  the  shadows 
appeared  almost  black  at  first  sight  ;  yet  they  were  perfectly 
transparent  and  full  of  wonderful  perspective.  I  don't  mean 
that  this  sort  of  thing  would  do  for  your  autumn  landscapes  (it 
would  n't  at  all),  — indeed  I  am  not  writing  with  reference  to 
your  pictures,  or  G.'s,  or  K.'s,  which  belong  to  a  different  class, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  here  is  a  field  which  our  artists  have 
neglected.  Our  part  of  the  exhibition  was  very  creditable  :  I 
think  we  made  a  much  better  show  than  the  English,  who  showed 
the  most  astonishing  contortions. 

.  .  .  Yewell  (whom  I  think  you  know)  and  Loop  are  living 
here,  and  I  see  them  occasionally.  They,  their  wives,  and  the 
consul  and  his  wife,  are  our  only  acquaintances.  A  great  many 
Americans  come  here  for  a  few  days,  but  we  don't  see  them. 
We  have  four  delightful  rooms,  near  the  Doge's  Palace,  with  a 
magnificent  view  over  the  waters,  for  eight  francs  a  day,  includ 
ing  attendance.  Our  living  costs  us  fifteen  francs  a  day,  for  four 
persons.  This  will  give  you  an  idea  of  Venetian  expenses.  A 
gondola  costs  one  franc  for  the  first  hour,  and  half  that  the  next. 
Grapes  are  four  cents  per  pound,  cigars  one  and  a  half  cents, 
wine  as  little  as  you  choose  to  pay.  If  you  order  a  dinner  for 
two  and  one  half  francs  you  get  four  courses  and  a  .bottle  of  wine 
thrown  in.  If  you  sketch  in  the  streets,  somebody  brings  you  a 
chair,  and  keeps  the  small  boys  off.  Beggars  and  flower-girls 
are  the  only  trouble. 

Now  I  ought  not  to  send  a  blank  page  so  far,  but  I  must  stop 
to-night  for  three  reasons,  —  it  is  late,  I  am  very  tired  with  run 
ning  errands  for  my  convalescents  (being  myself  only  a  conva 
lescent),  and  my  head  is  thick  with  a  cold,  a  sort  of  after-clap 
to  the  more  serious  ailment.  My  next  letter,  and  soon,  will  be 
to  Launt  Thompson,  to  whom,  and  Gifford,  and  Eastman  John 
son,  and  all  other  good  and  faithfully-remembered  friends,  my 
love.  .  .  . 

This  letter  gives  intimation  of  an  illness  from  which 
the  writer  had  suffered,  a  bilious  fever  and  inflamma 
tion  of  the  throat.  Long  hours  spent  by  the  canal- 
side  in  the  chill  October  air,  often  in  the  heavy  shade 
of  palaces,  added  to  the  low  tone  of  his  system,  of 
which  he  had  been  more  or  less  conscious  all  the  sum- 


482  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

mer,  brought  about  the  first  serious  illness  from  which 
he  had  ever  suffered,  and  it  was  very  serious.  The 
party  left  Venice  October  27th,  and  stopping  succes 
sively  at  Padua  and  Bologna  reached  Florence,  where, 
on  the  last  day  of  the  month,  they  found  lodgings  in 
Casa  Guidi.  The  fever  which  had  been  rendering 
Bayard  Taylor  wretched  now  burst  into  a  flame,  and 
for  four  weeks  he  hovered  between  life  and  death. 
He  was  fortunate  in  having  admirable  medical  attend 
ance  in  the  services  of  Dr.  Wilson,  an  English  phy 
sician  living  in  Florence,  but  his  own  resolution  was 
an  efficient  aid.  Even  while  he  was  passing  through  a 
violent  phase  of  the  disease,  the  old  will,  which  was 
stronger  than  his  body,  asserted  itself,  and  he  insisted 
upon  some  show  of  activity  every  day,  if  it  were  only 
to  rise  and  be  moved  from  one  room  to  another.  In 
deed,  sickness  to  him  was  an  offense  against  nature, 
to  be  fought  and  conquered.  It  was  almost  intolera 
ble  to  him  to  witness  sickness ;  it  was  a  humiliation 
to  endure  it.  All  his  healthy  sense  revolted  at  it.  He 
had  a  singular  experience  during  his  illness.  He  was 
housed  where  Mrs.  Browning  had  lived  and  died,  and 
in  one  of  his  wandering  hours  — 

She  came,  whom  Casa  Guidi 's  chambers  knew 

And  know  more  proudly,  an  Immortal,  now  ; 

The  air  without  a  star,  was  shivered  through 

With  the  resistless  radiance  of  her  brow, 

And  glimmering  landscapes  from  the  darkness  grew. 

Thin,  phantom-like  ;  and  yet  she  brought  me  rest. 
Unspoken  words,  an  understood  command 
Sealed  weary  lids  with  sleep,  together  pressed 
In  clasping  quiet  wandering  hand  to  hand, 
And  smoothed  the  folded  cloth  above  the  breast.1 

1  Bayard  Taylor  sent  the  poem  of  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows,"  from  which 
these  stanzas  are  taken,  to  Robert  Browning,  when  writing  to  him,  and 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  483 

The  physician  enjoined  the  strictest  seclusion  and 
freedom  from  mental  exercise.  The  convalescent  saw 
no  letters,  received  no  visitors,  and  was  kept  as  near 
to  a  merely  animal  existence  as  was  possible.  With 
returning  strength  he  gradually  resumed  something 
of  his  old  life,  and  when  he  could  once  more  go  out, 
think,  write,  and  see  his  friends,  he  was  aware  that  he 
had  passed  not  only  through  a  physical  crisis,  but 
through  a  mental  and  spiritual  one  as  well.  He  did 
not  often  speak  of  this  except  to  those  closest  to  him, 
but  he  was  wont  to  note  the  change  as  if  a  veil  had 
fallen  from  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  all  things  clearly. 
The  world  came  back  to  him  in  papers  and  letters. 
There  had  been  time  in  his  long  illness  for  the  news 
to  go  to  America,  and  for  letters  of  sympathy  to  come 
back  and  greet  him  as  he  awoke  out  of  his  enforced 
obscuration. 

TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

FLORENCE,  December  1,  1867. 

The  doctor  has  just  given  me  permission  to  write  a  little,  and 
I  make  use  of  it  to  let  you  know  directly  from  myself  how  I  am 
getting  along.  Up  to  Monday  last,  —  six  days  ago,  —  nay  prog 
ress  was  so  slow  that  I  felt  discouraged  ;  then,  all  at  once,  I 
seemed  to  turn  a  corner,  and  got  better  so  rapidly  that  I  can 
scarcely  believe  it.  Two  or  three  weeks  ago  I  was  really  in  a 
very  serious  state,  entirely  prostrated  by  violent  fever,  my  stom 
ach  in  such  a  condition  that  it  generated  only  carbonic  acid  gas, 
and  my  lungs  congested.  The  doctor  said  I  would  probably 
have  to  be  in  bed  for  a  month  to  come.  Now  I  get  up  at  nine 
o'clock,  wash  and  dress  myself,  eat  ravenously,  read  a  little, 
paint  a  little,  walk  the  room  for  exercise,  and  don't  go  to  bed 
till  eight  in  the  evening  !  If  the  weather  is  fine  to-morrow,  I  am 

received  a  warm  letter  in  reply,  in  which  the  poet  says  :  "  There  used  to 
be  healing  once  in  a  shadow,  and  there  is  all  the  interest  in  the  world  to 
me  in  shadows,  were  they  far  fainter  than  this  one  you  describe,  which 
come  from  what  is  real  and  present  to  me  at  all  times.  Thank  you  very 
heartily  and  affectionately." 


484  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

to  ride  out  in  a  carriage.  I  feel  very  bright  and  fresh  and  hope 
ful.  I  am  truly  grateful  for  this  fortunate  change  in  my  con 
dition,  and  hope  that  you  will  have  no  further  anxiety  about  me. 
Even  if  I  should  happen  to  have  a  slight  relapse,  I  have  now 
gained  so  much  strength  that  it  would  not  be  dangerous.  I  can 
tell  you  now  that  the  illness  has  been  most  serious,  but  Dr.  Wil 
son's  great  skill  and  care  have  brought  me  through  it.  ... 
Well,  we  '11  say  no  more  about  this  subject  now.  The  doctor 
says  it  has  been  slowly  coming  on  me  for  months  past,  and  I 
think  he  's  right.  I  trust  I  shall  be  better  and  stronger  than 
before,  after  I  get  entirely  well. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 
CASA  GUIDI,  FLORENCE,  December  18,  1867. 

I  can't  tell  you  how  much  good  your  letter  did  me.  It  came 
like  a  providence,  on  the  very  day  when  I  was  first  allowed  to 
read  a  letter  ;  and  although  M.  was  almost  afraid  to  let  me  go 
through  with  the  copied  sheets,  in  addition,  I  did  so  and  was  all 
the  cheerier  for  it.  I  was  just  turning  the  corner  between  weak 
ness  and  strength,  and  the  livelier  motion  that  came  into  my 
blood  with  your  welcome  words  was  very  different  from  the  ex 
citement  of  fever. 

Of  course  you  know  what  a  gulf  I  have  been  hanging  over, 
and  how  fortunately  the  danger  has  been  passed.  Nature  kindly 
threw  me  into  a  state  of  mental  apathy  (so  far  as  my  own  con 
sciousness  was  concerned)  which  made  me  ignorant  of  my  worst 
troubles,  and  it  is  only  little  by  little  that  M.  has  ventured  to 
describe  them.  I  had  spells  of  delirium  during  eight  or  ten 
days,  and  supposed  that  I  slept !  Then  my  lungs  were  badly 
congested,  —  half  of  the  right  lung  being  solid  and  without  ac 
tion,  —  and  I  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  the  fact.  The  doctor 
gave  me  another  month  in  bed,  and  was  one  of  the  most  sur 
prised  at  the  pace  with  which  I  rushed  back  into  health.  I  now 
feel  better  than  at  any  time  during  the  past  three  or  four  years, 
—  in  fact,  very  much  as  if  I  had  been  completely  ground  over 
and  come  out  new.  I  must  still  be  a  little  careful  of  my  lungs, 
which,  although  perfectly  well  again,  are  still  just  a  little  bit 
sensitive.  But  does  n't  it  seem  absurd  ?  I  had  always  sup 
posed  that,  whatever  organ  might  get  out  of  gear,  my  lungs  were 
safe.  Twenty  times  a  day  I  draw  in  a  breath  containing  some 
forty  cubic  feet  of  air,  and  as  every  cell  of  the  machinery  ex- 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  485 

pands  clearly  and  smoothly  to  its  utmost  capacity,  without  ache 
or  strain,  I  doubt  the  doctor's  assurances  of  my  recent  condition. 
However,  there  is  a  vast  space  on  my  back,  reaching  from  the 
shoulder-blades  to  the  reins,  whence  the  skin  has  been  burnt  by 
fires  of  mustard,  and  that  convinces  me  that  something  must 
have  been  the  matter. 

I  can  now  thank  God  not  only  for  my  recovery,  but  for  my  ill 
ness.  For  two  years  I  have  felt  that  my  vital  power  was  low 
ered,  without  being  able  to  point  to  any  symptom  of  disease,  and 
a  crisis  like  this  was  necessary.  In  mind  and  moral  tempera 
ment  a  corresponding  process  has  taken  place,  and  I  look  forth 
into  the  re-bestowed  world  with  younger,  more  hopeful,  and 
more  courageous  eyes.  I  take  a  fresh  departure  from  this  point, 
and  believe  that  it  may  be  toward  better  things.  Your  pluck 
and  patience  and  cheerfulness  under  most  discouraging  circum 
stances  came  to  me  like  a  cry  of  "  Shame  on  your  shallow,  mis 
erable  worries  !  "  I  had  taken  up  the  question  already,  while  I 
lay  on  my  back,  pondered,  and  settled  it.  One  should  never 
doubt  God,  nor  defy  what  we  call  Chance.  I  am  going  to 
have,  henceforth,  more  calm  and  moral  poise,  —  perhaps  you 
don't  know  my  previous  restlessness,  because  I  did  my  best  to 
conceal  it.  A  whisper  comes  to  me  as  I  write  that  I  should 
make  no  promises  for  the  future,  so  I  will  only  .say  that  I  am 
happier  now  than  for  many,  many  a  month. 

.  .  .  My  fancy  stirs  now  with  health,  as  if  a  dozen  new  wings 
had  sprouted,  —  whence,  I  foresee,  there  will  be  much  consump 
tion  of  cream-laid  paper  (enormously  dear  here,  but  I  prefer  it 
for  poetry)  in  the  next  two  or  three  months.  I  'm  very  glad  that 
you  liked  my  Pyrenean  article,  —  but  those  now  to  come  are 
better,  I  think.  I  'm  not  allowed  to  sketch,  however,  mainly 
because  my  studies  in  the  back  streets  of  Venice  gave  me  the 
malaria,  which  brought  on  the  whole  complication  of  ills.  But 
when  we  get  to  Naples,  in  a  fortnight  from  now,  I  '11  brave  ban 
ditti  and  doctors,  and  bring  you  something  from  the  Terra  di 
Lavoro. 

This  is  not  much  of  a  letter,  in  answer  to  your  rich  package 
of  sheets,  but  all  the  delayed  work  and  correspondence  of  two 
months  is  upon  me,  and  I  must  therefore  ask  you  to  take  this  as 
a  sign  of  life  and  love  until  I  can  do  better.  .  .  , 


486  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  GEORGE   H.   YEWELL. 

FLORENCE,  Wednesday,  December  18,  1867. 

Your  welcome  letter  arrived  on  Saturday,  and  you  may  be 
sure  that  we  are  all  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  so  pleasantly  situ 
ated.  Indeed,  your  account  (notwithstanding  the  one  hundred 
and  six  steps  to  the  studio)  makes  me  almost  regret  that  we  are 
not  going  to  Rome  at  once.  My  plans,  however,  depend  consid 
erably  upon  certain  things  which  are  to  be  written,  and  so  we 
must  needs  go  to  Naples  first.  We  hope  to  reach  there  on  the 
31st  of  this  month,  and  come  back  to  Rome  by  the  first  of 
March.  But  we  shall  certainly  find  you  there  then,  and  I  hope 
we  shall  be  able  to  find  quarters  in  your  neighborhood. 

.  .  .  There  are  at  least  two  hundred  Americans  (so  Mr.  Marsh 
tells  me)  here  at  present,  and  I  presume  the  most  of  them  are 
bound  for  Rome.  Dr.  Bellows  is  the  only  New  Yorker  whom  I 
have  met.  I  have  been  visiting  the  sculptors  here  during  the 
last  few  days,  and  have  run  through  the  galleries  once.  We 
have  gone  out  to  Fiesole  and  to  Galileo's  Tower,  during  the  half- 
dozen  days  of  fine  weather,  trying,  as  much  as  possible,  to  make 
up  for  lost  time,  —  but,  with  the  best  will,  we  shall  have  to  leave 
a  great  many  things  unseen.  The  months  of  November  and 
December,  thus  far,  have  been  unusually  cold  for  Florence  ;  you 
have  it  a  great  deal  milder  at  Rome.  .  .  . 

It  is  comforting  to  know  that  rent  is  so  moderate  in  Rome.  I 
can't  travel  yet  without  counting  the  cost,  and  am  therefore  in 
terested  in  such  matters.  We  live  here  more  cheaply  than  in 
Venice,  but  expensively,  compared  with  ten  years  ago.  Some 
things  are  very  cheap,  but  apartments  have  doubled  in  price. 
We  shall  want  just  such  a  household  arrangement  as  yours  in 
Rome,  and  if  we  can  get  as  good  quarters  at  the  same  price,  I 
think  I  shall  take  a  studio  in  addition,  and  play  the  amateur  at  a 
great  rate.  (I  give  you  leave  to  laugh  at  my  presumption.) 

My  Naples  address  is  "  care  of  Freres  Forquet,"  and  I  hope 
you  won't  forget  it.  It  will  be  hard  to  go  past  Rome,  seeing  the 
Campagna  and  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  without  stopping  ;  but 
the  convenience  of  a  through  journey,  without  frontier  examina 
tions,  will  oblige  us  to  do  it.  Give  my  friendliest  greetings  to 
Vedder,  Loops,  and  all  other  friends.  T.  B.  Read  is  in  Rome  : 
if  you  don't  know  him,  and  want  to,  use  my  name.  I  hope  you 
will  stay  during  all  the  three  spring  months,  as  we  will. 


BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE.  487 

On  the  last  day  of  the  year  Bayard  Taylor  and  his 
party  were  in  Naples,  where  they  spent  three  or  four 
weeks,  and  then  went  to  Sorrento,  spending  a  week 
meanwhile  at  Capri.  They  returned  to  Naples  for  a 
month,  and  in  the  middle  of  March  went  to.  Rome. 
During  the  stay  at  Sorrento  he  wrote  two  more  of  his 
"  Atlantic  "  papers,  "A  Week  on  Capri  "  and  "  A  Trip 
to  Ischia." 

TO  JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

SORRENTO,  February  3,  1868. 

It  was  a  joyous  day  for  us,  three  weeks  ago,  when  we  came 
down  from  Vesuvius,  and  found  seven  letters  (one  of  which  was 
from  you)  awaiting  us.  I  should  have  written  to  you  sooner,  in 
answer  to  your  first  ;  but  I  presume  you  know  all  about  my  ill 
ness  by  this  time,  and  will  understand  and  admit  the  delay.  In 
fact,  I  am  only  just  now  venturing  to  do  my  usual  amount  of 
work.  Although  my  recovery  from  the  critical  stage  of  the  dis 
ease  was  wonderfully  rapid,  I  have  remained  weak,  and  (though 
you  will  scarcely  believe  it)  with  delicate  lungs  until  within  a 
few  days.  My  literary  work,  my  business  letters,  all  the  exter 
nal  machinery  of  my  life,  indeed,  have  had  to  wait,  —  and  so  it 
has  been  with  my  correspondence.  The  first  intoxication  of  con 
valescence  was  followed  by  a  severe  cold  and  cough  after  arriv 
ing  at  Naples,  —  perhaps  the  climbing  of  Vesuvius  a  little  too 
soon  for  my  strength  had  something  to  do  with  it,  —  and  it  has 
required  a  week  on  Capri  to  fully  reestablish  me.  We  came 
over  from  the  island  last  night  in  a  sail-boat,  and  are  now  settled 
at  Sorrento  for  four  or  five  weeks  to  come.  Within  the  last 
three  days  we  have  heard  of  another  wonderful  escape.  While 
in  Naples  we  took  rooms  in  a  house  on  the  quay  of  Santa  Lucia, 
facing  Vesuvius,  and  stayed  there  four  weeks.  We  had  not  left 
the  quarters  four  days  before  the  great  rock  of  Pizzofalcone,  be 
hind  the  quay,  fell  down  and  buried  the  houses,  ours  among 
them.  We  hear  that  eighty  lives  are  lost.  Had  we  remained 
another  week,  we  should  all  have  been  lost,  as  the  slide  hap 
pened  at  an  hour  when  we  were  sure  to  have  been  at  home. 
Graham,  who  has  been  to  Naples  since,  says  that  not  one  stone  of 
our  house  is  left  upon  the  other.  What  a  wonderful  chance  ! 
Moreover,  the  mountain  road  from  Castellamare  to  this  place 


488  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

was  covered  and  destroyed  by  a  tremendous  slide  of  rocks  a  few 
hours  after  we  passed  over  it.  Graham  and  his  wife,  who  came 
after  us,  had  the  narrowest  escape.  My  confidence  in  the  sta 
bility  of  the  earth  is  considerably  shaken,  after  these  experi 
ences.  Death  has  reached  after  me  three  times,  and  missed,  in 
the  last  -two  months  ;  I  hope  he  will  now  let  me  live  a  while 
longer. 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 

SORRENTO,  March  3,  1868. 

.  .  .  We  have  been  here  four  or  five  weeks  already,  and  are 
beginning  to  pack  up  for  Rome.  A  great  deal  has  transpired 
since  I  last  wrote  to  you,  and  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin  or 
what  to  say  first.  I  think  I  have  at  last  my  full,  normal  strength 
again,  but  only  since  our  week  on  Capri,  where  the  brisk  sea  air, 
the  excitement  of  the  rocky  rambles,  and  the  good  fare  we  had 
in  the  artists'  hotel,  seemed  to  make  a  new  man  of  me  at  once. 
Last  week  I  went  to  Ischia  for  two  or  three  days,  returning  by 
way  of  Naples,  where  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  pile  of  rocks 
which  covers  the  spot  where  we  lived.  You  have  heard  of  the 
great  land-slide  by  telegraph,  I  presume.  The  rock  of  Pizzofal- 
cone  fell  down  on  the  quay  of  Santa  Lucia,  only  three  days  after 
we  left  our  quarters  there.  I  had  a  providential  cold  and  sore 
ness  in  the  lungs,  which  made  us  leave  for  Capri,  and  so  we  nar 
rowly  escaped  a  fearful  death.  Grahams  and  Bierstadts  were 
wont  to  take  tea  with  us  there,  and  we  might  all  have  perished 
together  ;  for  it  seems  that  the  rock  had  been  suspended,  like 
the  sword  of  Damocles,  for  weeks  before  it  fell.  Chance  (which 
is  another  name  for  God's  mercy)  saved  us.  Sixty  persons 
were  killed.  ...  I  wish  you  could  breathe  this  air,  see  this 
splendid  sapphire  of  the  sea,  walk  as  we  do  under  budding 
orange  and  blossoming  almond  trees,  and  dine  on  sardines  fresh 
from  the  water,  cuttle-fish  (the  pieuvre  of  Victor  Hugo),  roast 
kid,  woodcock,  and  grapes  dried  with  aniseed  in  fig-leaves.  We 
live  in  an  old  Jesuit  monastery,  about  a  mile  from  Sorrento,  — 
a  charming,  picturesque  old  pile,  the  cellars  of  which  are  sup 
posed  to  have  belonged  to  a  Roman  temple  of  the  Sirens.  From 
the  broad,  vine-covered  terrace  we  can  see  Vesuvius,  Naples, 
Posilipo,  Baiae,  and  Ischia.  Here  we  have  three  large  rooms,  a 
capital  table  (private),  and  the  best  of  attendance,  for  six  francs 
a  day  apiece.  Grahams  are  at  a  villa  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
from  us,  and  we  see  them  every  day.  We  have  donkey-rides  on 


BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE.  489 

the  mountains,  carriage-drives  along  this  magnificent  shore,  and 
sometimes,  as  a  diversion,  fishermen  to  dance  the  tarantella  of 
an  evening.  I  could  stay  for  months  and  be  happy,  yet  we  must 
go  to  Rome  next  week,  to  make  the  most  of  our  remaining  time 
in  Italy.  The  greatest  day  I  have  had  —  one  of  the  white  days 
of  my  life,  in  fact  —  was  that  spent  in  Pompeii.  How  I  wished 
for  you  !  We  read  Overbeck's  admirable  work  first,  so  that 
everything  was  clear  and  familiar,  —  and  such  an  insight  into  the 
life  of  the  ancients  !  But,  alas  !  the  way  people  see  Pompeii  is 
enough  to  disgust  one.  Of  all  the  multitude  of  Americans  who 
are  in  this  region  (three  hundred  at  one  time),  scarcely  ten  have 
a  real,  intelligent  interest  in  what  they  see.  On  the  rocks  about 
here  the  asphodels  are  now  in  blossom.  Do  you  suppose  the 
tourists  know  what  an  asphodel  is,  when  I  point  it  out  to  them  ? 
No,  indeed.  We  purposely  live  secluded  (seeing  only  the  Gra 
hams  and  their  friends),  and  very  few  of  the  crowd  have  found 
us  out. 

...  I  had  a  letter  from  Brockhaus,  of  Leipzig,  the  other  day, 
wanting  my  biography  for  his  "  Conversations-Lexicon."  That 
seems  almost  like  fame,  does  n't  it  ?  But  ah,  how  much  is  there 
yet  to  be  achieved,  before  I  have  any  right  to  a  name  that  will 
last  even  fifty  years  !  After  all,  literature  is  and  must  be  its 
own  reward.  I  would  not  give  up  my  calling  though  everything 
I  have  done  should  die  with  me. 

We  already  begin  to  turn  our  thoughts  homeward,  and  I  as 
sure  you  there  are  frequent  times  when  I  long  to  be  back  again, 
and  quietly  at  work  in  my  own  room  on  my  suspended  plans. 
The  few  years  at  Cedarcroft  have  injured  my  capacity  for  writ 
ing  while  on  the  wing.  I  can  work  best  in  quarters  to  which  I 
am  accustomed.  I  brought  along  my  "  Faust,"  expecting  to  do 
something  considerable  at  the  translation,  but  devil  a  line  shall 
I  write  until  we  are  back  again.  However,  I  have  got  upon  the 
track  of  the  almost  endless  Faust  literature,  and  shall  be  able 
to  examine  everything  of  importance  that  has  been  written  about 
the  poem,  before  publishing. 

M.  has  been  unwell  for  a  week,  and  is  only  now  getting  about 
again.  This  has  delayed  (and  may  possibly  prevent)  our  trip  to 
Amalfi  and  Psestum,  and  we  want  to  get  to  Rome  next  week. 
The  change  in  the  season  is  like  heaven  to  me.  That  and  the 
Capri  and  Falernian  wines  have  restored  all  my  lost  flesh,  and 
M.  says  my  cheeks  are  now  as  full-blown  as  those  of  one  of  the 


490  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

judgment-trumpeting  angels.     I  hope  you  have  not  waited  for 
this,  but  that  it  may  cross  one  of  yours  on  the  Atlantic. 

TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

ROME,  March  16,  1868. 

I  take  the  first  chance  we  have  after  getting  to  Rome  to  write 
to  you.  We  left  Naples  last  Friday  morning,  the  13th,  and  reached 
here  the  same  evening.  Saturday  and  yesterday  were  devoted 
to  hunting  for  rooms,  as  the  hotel  was  enormously  expensive, 
and,  moreover,  very  uncomfortable  ;  but  we  have  been  lucky  in 
getting  pleasant  quarters  at  last.  We  have  taken  furnished 
rooms  at  a  rent  of  sixty  francs  per  month,  which  would  be  dear 
in  ordinary  times,  but  now,  when  there  are  twelve  hundred 
Americans  in  Rome,  it  is  considered  very  cheap.  We  have  five 
rooms  on  the  second  floor,  in  a  pleasant  street,  and  keep  house 
ourselves,  which  is  the  most  independent  and  agreeable  plan. 
The  weather  is  so  warm  and  delightful,  and  the  spring  so  far 
advanced,  that  we  scarcely  need  any  fire,  except  a  little  in  the 
evening.  We  are  all  in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits,  and  are 
determined  to  enjoy  our  stay  as  fully  as  possible. 

The  two  months'  stay  in  Kome  was  full  of  agreeable 
occupation.  There  were  many  friends  near  at  hand, 
the  Yewells  and  Loops,  the  Bierstadts,  Reads,  and 
others,  and  Bayard  Taylor  had  besides  allowed  his 
passion  for  painting  to  transform  him  into  a  very 
close  likeness  to  a  professional  artist,  for  he  hired  a 
studio  where  he  secreted  himself  every  forenoon.  He 
did  not  disclose  its  situation  to  his  friends,  but  worked 
industriously  in  it,  without  fear  of  interruption,  tak 
ing  up  figure  painting.  He  felt  the  vigor  of  a  return 
ing  health,  but  he  was  made  aware,  also,  that  he  was 
more  sensitive  than  formerly  to  atmospheric  changes. 

TO   HIS    MOTHER. 

ROME,  April  21,  1868. 

.  .  .  Since  we  came  to  Rome  I  have  been  very  busy,  trying  to 
learn  to  paint  a  little.  Yewell,  an  American  artist,  has  given  me 
some  instruction,  and  I  am  getting  on  tolerably  well.  I  work 


BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE.  491 

three  or  four  hours  every  morning,  spend  the  afternoons  in  see 
ing  sights,  and  the  evenings  in  visiting,  receiving  visits,  or  writ 
ing.  The  time  goes  very  fast,  but  I  don't  object  to  that,  as  I 
have  a  real  longing  to  get  home  again.  I  have  seen  no  place, 
even  in  Italy,  that  I  like  so  well.  Nevertheless,  there  is  a  great 
deal  here  that  we  want  to  see,  and  we  shall  probably  leave  be 
fore  we  can  do  all  we  want.  Rome  has  been  so  crowded  with 
Americans  that  in  spite  of  all  our  endeavors  to  keep  out  of  so 
ciety  we  have  been  drawn  into  it.  Since  Easter  week  is  over 
they  have  nearly  all  left,  and  we  can  now  begin  to  enjoy  Rome. 
The  weather  has  been  raw,  rainy,  and  windy  until  to-day,  when 
the  moon  changes  and  the  day  is  fine,  giving  us  a  promise  of 
better  days.  The  spring  is  not  much  more  advanced  there  than 
it  sometimes  is  with  us.  The  oaks  are  just  coming  into  leaf,  but 
locusts  and  mulberries  are  still  bare.  Strawberries  are  in  the 
market,  but  they  ask  five  francs  a  basket.  Lilacs  are  just  begin 
ning  to  bloom.  To-day  is  the  first  really  warm  day  we  have  had 
in  Rome. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

ROME,  April  27,  1868. 

...  I  must  write  to  you  from  Rome,  if  only  to  tell  you  that 
we  are  thus  far  on  the  way  homeward,  Sorrento  having  been  the 
turning-point.  We  have  now  been  here  six  weeks,  and  in  three 
more  will  move  forward  another  stage,  —  nor  reluctantly,  much 
as  we  enjoy  being  in  Rome.  I  have  now  been  seven  months  in 
Italy,  and  am  (let  me  confess  to  you)  a  little  desillusionne.  I 
presume  the  old  longing  will  return  again  after  I  leave,  but 
there  is  less  of  the  "  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  "  than 
there  used  to  be.  I  want  to  work,  I  am  bursting  with  fresh 
plans,  and  this  delightful  atmosphere  is  like  a  narcotic  which 
benumbs  one's  executive  faculties  while  stimulating  the  imagina 
tion.  The  past  is  too  powerful  here  :  it  draws  us  constantly 
away  from  the  work  intended  for  us.  A  singular  indifference  to 
the  movements  of  this  present  and  grand  world  creeps  over  us, 
and  we  end  by  becoming  idle,  Epicurean  dreamers.  I  am  satis 
fied  that  Rome  is  no  place  for  a  poet,  however  it  may  be  with 
artists.  I  have  written  five  or  six  short  poems,  but  postpone  all 
more  important  plans  until  I  get  home  again.  Being  here, 
where  models  are  plentiful  and  color  is  part  of  the  atmosphere,  I 
have  taken  a  little  studio  for  two  months,  and  paint  three  or  four 


492  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

hours  every  day  from  the  living  figure.  It  is  most  instructive, 
and  at  the  same  time  not  a  little  amusing.  The  studio  is  strictly 
private  ;  I  tell  nobody  where  it  is,  and  hence  many  would  like  to 
know.  My  beginnings  were  in  the  style  of  the  early  Christian 
mosaics,  but  I  have  already  advanced  about  five  centuries  since 
then,  and  am  now  painting  in  the  style  of  the  Venetian  genera 
tion  before  Titian.  I  don't  presume  to  hope  that  I  could  ever  be 
mistaken  for  one  of  the  contemporaries  of  the  latter,  but,  with 
time,  I  might  skip  over  the  intervening  centuries  and  emulate 

such  moderns  as and .     I  find  that  the  hard  work  and 

study  necessary  in  order  to  be  something  more  than  a  contemp 
tible  amateur  is  a  good  discipline.  I  have  held  myself  forcibly 
to  the  task,  through  disgust  and  despair,  and  am  rewarded  by 
learning  a  little  at  last.  It  seems  to  me  that  one  cannot  grow 
old  so  long  as  one  is  capable  of  undertaking  a  new  study.  I  have 
made  one  hundred  and  forty  sketches  since  leaving  home,  and 
have  therefore  plenty  of  material  on  which  to  expend  my  techni 
cal  gains  when  I  return.  (You  are  free  to  laugh  at  this  wan- 
ity).  .  .  . 

Florence  again  received  the  travelers,  on  their 
homeward  way,  and  Bayard  Taylor  and  his  wife  made 
an  excursion  to  Corsica  which  bore  fruit  in  the  two 
papers,  "  The  Land  of  Paoli "  and  "  The  Island  of 
Maddalena,  with  a  Distant  View  of  Caprera ; "  con 
tinuing  the  series  of  "  By-Ways  "  which  he  had  en 
gaged  to  contribute  during  his  absence  to  the  "  Atlan 
tic  Monthly."  Mr.  Fields  in  writing  to  him  urged 
him  to  send  also  short  stories. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

FLORENCE,  May  25,  1868. 

.  .  .  About  a  short  story.  You  will  easily  comprehend  that 
here,  where  my  mind  is  occupied  with  quite  other  subjects,  — 
where  I  am  making  studies,  gathering  materials,  bridging  over 
many  chasms  of  uncompleted  knowledge  in  literature  and  art,  — 
it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  do  what  you  want.  I  must 
leave  it  until  I  get  home,  which  will  be  in  August.  If  I  had 
twenty  short  stories  on  hand  I  could  dispose  of  them  at  once,  the 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  493 

demand  seems  to  be  so  great.     But  I  shall  undertake  none  until 
the  roof  of  Cedarcroft  shelters  me. 

I  should  have  been  in  Corsica  this  week  but  for  a  most  pro 
voking  circumstance.  There  was  much  small-pox  in  Rome,  and 
I  was  vaccinated  again.  It  did  not  take,  but  the  vaccine  matter 
acted  as  a  sort  of  -poison  to  my  system.  Since  coming  here  I 
have  had  a  terribly  inflamed  left  arm,  with  fever,  and  the  doctor 
was  quite  anxious  for  a  day  or  two.  I  am  now  better,  but  am 
bandaged  and  poulticed  as  I  write. 

In  June  the  party  returned  to  Gotha,  spending  a 
week  on  the  way  at  Lausanne. 

TO  HIS   MOTHER. 

GOTHA,  June  21, 1868. 

.  .  .  We  left  Lausanne  last  Tuesday  noon,  the  16th,  traveled 
all  night,  and  reached  here  on  Wednesday  afternoon.  All  are 
well,  and  the  weather  is  superb.  I  am  delighted  that  our  jour 
neys  are  so  nearly  over.  When  we  move  again  it  will  be  to  go 
homeward.  I  have  still  to  write  four  articles  on  German  out-of- 
the-way  places,  which  will  take  the  month  of  July,  and  then  we 
shall  be  ready  to  start.  Since  I  came  back  to  Gotha  I  really 
learn  for  the  first  time  how  much  better  and  stronger  I  am  than 
last  year.  The  difference  is  wonderful  and  everybody  notices  it. 
I  hope,  now,  that  I  shall  be  able  to  keep  what  I  have  gained. 

Bayard  Taylor  made  excursions  from  Gotha  which 
resulted  in  the  final  papers  of  "  By- Ways,"  "  In  the 
Teutoburger  Forest "  and  "  The  Suabian  Alb."  Much 
of  his  time,  however,  was  occupied  with  social  pleasures, 
and  with  the  accumulation  of  material  for  his  study  of 
"  Faust."  He  visited  Hirzel,  the  publisher,  in  Leip 
zig,  who  had  made  a  specialty  of  collecting  Faust  lit 
erature,  and  used  every  opportunity  to  consult  Ger 
man  scholars  and  poets,  who  entered  heartily  into  his 
schemes. 


494  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 

GOTHA,  August  9,  1868. 

Yesterday  came  your  very  welcome  note  of  July  23d.  I  am 
glad  that  the  articles  find  favor  in  your  sight.  I  did  not  get  to 
the  Carpathians,  on  account  of  the  weather,  but  visited  two  little- 
known  corners  of  Germany  —  the  Teutoburger  Forest  and  the 
Suabian  Alb.  My  Corsican  article  is  half  written,  but  for  the  life 
of  me  I  can't  find  time  (in  this  season  of  packing  and  farewell 
dinner  and  supper  parties)  to  finish.  I  must  e'en  throw  myself 
on  your  grace,  take  the  thing  home  with  me,  and  finish  it  as  soon 
as  may  be  after  arrival,  in  season  for  the  November  "  Atlantic." 
When  I  am  once  more  settled  at  Cedarcroft,  I  shall  soon  arrange 
myself  for  steady  work.  You  have  no  idea  how  difficult  it  is  to 
write  while  thus  on  the  wing.  However,  I  inclose  something  for 
your  perusal,  which,  if  you  don't  want  to  print,  at  least  keep  the 
copy  for  me. 

We  leave  here  day  after  to-morrow  morning,  and  go  via  Paris 
to  London.  I  shall  have  but  five  days  in  London,  but  shall  see  as 
many  old  and  make  as  many  new  friends  as  possible.  As  it  is  in 
August  I  fear  that  dear  old  Barry  and  the  Thackerays  may  be 
absent.  I  want  to  see  Swinburne  again,  and  Morley  and  Mor 
ris. 

I  have  taken  passage  in  the  Germania,  which  leaves  Southamp 
ton  on  the  21st,  and  expect  to  be  in  New  York  by  September  1st. 
Since  Longfellow  left  England  I  hear  no  more  about  his  move 
ments.  He  was  said  to  be  in  Heidelberg,  but  I  could  not  find 
him  there  the  other  day.  He  is  very  popular  here,  and  the  Ger 
man  authors,  also,  would  like  to  do  him  honor.  Lucky  poet  ! 
but  he  deserves  it  all. 

The  Germania  reached  New  York  September  2d, 
and  the  travelers  immediately  returned  to  Cedarcroft, 
where  Bayard  Taylor  prepared  for  the  press  the  vol 
ume  of  "  By- Ways  of  Europe,"  the  only  substantial 
product  of  his  year  abroad.  It  appeared  at  once,  too 
soon,  indeed  to  include  the  latest  of  his  papers,  "  The 
Suabian  Alb,"  which  had  not  yet  been  published  in 
the  "  Atlantic."  He  brought  back  only  one  book  to 


BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE.  495 

show  for  his  year's  labor,  besides  the  large  collection 
of  sketches  and  paintings,  but  he  had  not  gone  for 
work.  He  had  gone  for  a  holiday,  and  the  enforced 
rest  which  his  illness  in  Florence  gave  him  made  him 
eager  now  to  plunge  into  the  work  which  had  been  ris 
ing  before  him  in  his  mind. 

VOL.   II.  6 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  YEAR  AT  CEDAKCKOFT. 

1868-1869. 

But  since  I  am  sated  with  visions, 

Sated  with  all  the  siren  Past  and  its  rhythmical  phantoms, 
Here  will  I  seek  my  songs  in  the  quiet  field  of  my  boyhood, 
Here,  where  the  peaceful  tent  of  home  is  pitched  for  a  season. 

Proem  (to  "Home  Pastorals"). 

THE  preface  to  the  volume  of  "  By- Ways  of  Europe  " 
is  in  the  form  of  a  "  Familiar  Letter  to  the  Reader," 
from  which  we  have  already  several  times  quoted  when 
treating  of  Bayard  Taylor's  successive  travels.  It  is, 
in  effect,  a  poet's  apology  for  having  been  a  traveler, 
and  a  leave-taking  of  this  form  of  literature :  "  In  lay 
ing  down  the  mantle  of  a  traveler,"  the  writer  says, 
"which  has  been  thrown  upon  my  shoulders  rather 
than  voluntarily  assumed,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  under 
stood  as  renouncing  all  the  chances  of  the  future.  I 
cannot  foresee  what  compulsory  influences,  what  inevi 
table  events,  may  come  to  shape  the  course  of  my  life ; 
the  work  of  the  day  is  all  with  which  a  man  need  con 
cern  himself.  One  thing,  only,  is  certain;  I  shall 
never,  from  the  mere  desire  of  travel,  go  forth  to  the 
distant  parts  of  the  earth.  Some  minds  are  so  consti 
tuted  that  their  freest  and  cheerfulest  activity  will  not 
accompany  the  body  from  place  to  place,  but  is  de 
pendent  on  the  air  of  home,  on  certain  familiar  sur 
roundings,  and  an  equable  habit  of  life.  Each  writer 


A   YEAR  AT  CEDARCROET.  497 

has  his  own  peculiar  laws  of  production,  which  the 
reader  cannot  always  deduce  from  his  works.  It 
amuses  me,  who  have  set  my  household  gods  upon 
the  soil  which  my  ancestors  have  tilled  for  near  two 
hundred  years,  t$>  hear  my  love  of  home  questioned  by 
men  who  have  Changed  theirs  a  dozen  times." 

The  reader  will  have  noticed  already  how  increas 
ingly  difficult  Bayard  Taylor  found  it  to  carry  on  any 
sustained  work  while  away  from  home,  and  how  impa 
tient  he  was  to  get  back  to  his  library  at  Cedarcroft. 
His  year  abroad  had  stimulated  his  growing  desire  for 
a  life  free  from  interruption  and  given  to  literature. 
He  had  dreamed  for  years  of  an  ideal  career.  He 
would  be  under  his  own  roof  in  the  midst  of  his  acres, 
rejoicing  in  the  generous  country  life,  unplagued  by 
cares  of  money,  devoting  his  fresh  hours  to  the  writing 
of  great  poems,  giving  expression  to  the  fancies  and 
schemes  which  thronged  his  active  mind,  resting  by 
congenial  work  upon  his  plantations,  enjoying  the 
pleasures  of  hospitality,  and  broadening  thus  into  a 
rich,  catholic  life.  He  built  no  castle  of  indolence  in 
his  dreams.  Necessity  compelled  him  to  be  busy  with 
his  pen,  but  he  needed  no  goad  in  literature ;  and  if 
all  care  for  the  provision  of  his  family  and  those  who 
leaned  on  him  were  to  be  removed,  there  was  no  fear 
that  he  would  drop  into  an  amiable  enjoyment  of  lit 
erature  and  art.  The  springs  of  mental  energy  were 
so  vigorous,  and  his  delight  in  production  so  keen,  that 
affluence  would  not  have  dulled  his  activity,  and  strin 
gency  of  fortune  could  only  divert  it  into  undesired 
ways. 

As  soon  as  he  had  fairly  seated  himself  at  Cedar- 
croft  he  betook  himself  to  his  work,  and  for  a  year  en 
joyed  as  near  an  approach  to  the  ideal  career  which  he 


498  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

had  imagined  as  was  ever  possible  to  him.  He  re 
fused  all  invitations  to  lecture,  and  was  only  occasion 
ally  absent  from  his  home.  The  great  work  which 
engaged  his  mind  was  the  translation  of  "Faust."  The 
studies  which  he  had  made  abroad  and. the  books  which 
he  had  collected  were  now  put  to  use,  fhid  the  deeper 
he  plunged  into  the  work  the  more  thoroughly  inter 
ested  did  he  become,  and  the  more  confident  of  final 
success.  He  worked  by  himself,  but  there  were  one 
or  two  who  shared  the  knowledge  of  his  labor  and  with 
whom  he  took  counsel.  Chief  of  these  was  the  Rev. 
Dr.  W.  H.  Furness,  of  Philadelphia,  who  gave  him 
the  benefit  of  special  criticism. 

Besides  the  "  Faust "  there  was  abundant  work  upon 
articles  and  poems.  Since  he  was  not  to  lecture,  Bay 
ard  Taylor  needed  to  supplement  his  income  by  con 
stant  literary  activity,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  withdraw  himself  wholly  to  work  which  was  delight 
ful  but  unremunerative.  Applications  from  various 
quarters  pressed  upon  him,  and  he  was,  besides,  so  fer 
tile  in  thought  that  for  his  own  comfort  he  must  needs 
rid  himself  of  the  conceptions  which  crowded  upon  him. 
His  first  business  was  to  complete  his  series  of  "  By- 
Ways  "  for  the  "  Atlantic,"  since  he  had  been  unable 
to  work  up  the  latest  material  gathered  in  the  hurried 
days  which  followed  in  Germany  and  London. 

TO  JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  September  7,  1868. 

.  .  .  To-day  I  begin  work,  and  you  shall  have  my  Corsican 
article  by  the  end  of  the  week.  Moreover,  a  story  just  as  soon 
as  possible.  .  .  .  While  in  London  and  Leipzig  I  sounded  certain 
publishers  about  my  translation  of  "  Faust,"  and  think  I  shall 
have  no  difficulty  in  arranging  a  simultaneous  publication  in  the 
three  countries.  Longfellow's  success  will  be  some  wind  in  my 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  499 

sails  ;  but  the  main  thing  remains  to  do  my  work,  and  do  it  as  it 
should  be  done.  How  is  Whittier,  the  dear,  good  friend  ? 

I  am  overwhelmed  with  applications  to  lecture,  but  have  de 
cided  not  to  go  forth  this  winter.  We  are  very  happy  here,  and 
my  best  policy  seems  to  be  to  use  the  fresh  working  mood  on 
matters  more  important  than  the  repetition  of  an  essay,  which  is 
about  what  my  lecturing  amounts  to. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  13,  1868. 

I  send  you  "  The  Land  of  Paoli,"  which  I  greatly  desire  should 
get  into  the  November  "  Atlantic."  I  think  it  will  make  about 
fourteen  pages,  but  not  too  much  for  the  subject.  The  other 
two  (if  you  want  both)  will  follow  speedily,  and  then  I  shall 
write  a  story.  I  am  ready  enough  to  give  you  short  stories,  but 
sadly  lack  good  material.  Whither  can  I  turn  for  the  latter  ? 

I  return  the  "  Sunshine  of  the  Gods."  While  in  London  I  read 
the  first  draft  of  the  poem  to  Swinburne,  who,  while  liking  it, 
thought  there  ought  either  to  be  more  rhyme  or  none  at  all.  Sin 
gularly  enough,  I  could  not  recall  the  changes  I  had  made  ;  but 
I  find,  on  reading  the  poem  carefully,  that  Swinburne's  criticism 
does  not  apply  to  the  amended  copy.  It  is  the  result  of  a  mood, 
—  of  a  flash  of  the  sunshine  of  the  gods,  —  and  ought  not  to  be 
touched  in  colder  blood.  You  were  right  in  your  warning.  I 
will  only  suggest  this  :  would  stanza  VIII.  be  improved  by  add 
ing  these  lines  to  the  end  :  — 

And  think'st  to  tame  the  fortune, 
And  force  its  week-day  service,  — 
To  clip  the  wings  of  the  bright  one  ?  — 
Alas !  to  tame  is  to  kill ! 

Ponder  this  carefully,  you  and  A.  W.,  and  if  you  think  it  good 
add  the  lines  ;  if  not,  not. 

I  am  glad  that  you  withheld  "  Orso's  Vendetta."  It  was  writ 
ten  during  my  convalescence,  and  I  now  see  physical  weakness 
in  it.  I  shall  recast  the  story,  which  is  too  good  to  lose. 

As  to  the  "  Lincoln  "  for  children,1 1  am  much  inclined  to  do 
it.  Having  decided  not  to  lecture  this  season,  I  shall  have  more 
time.  Only,  when  must  you  positively  have  it  ?  And,  besides,  I 
should  like  a  page  or  two  of  proof  of  Stoddard's  or  Stedman's 

1  Mr.  Fields  had  asked  him  to  write  a  poem  upon  Abraham  Lincoln  to 
accompany  some  pictures  in  color,  in  a  series  to  which  Mr.  Stoddard  and 
Mr.  Stedman  were  also  contributing. 


500  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

poems,  to  see  just  about  what  plane  of  intelligence  is  addressed. 
Perhaps  the  matter  will  keep  till  I  come  to  Boston  ;  but  if  not, 
pray  oblige  me  so  far. 

How  much  I  enjoy  reading  up  the  "  North  American  Review  !  " 
There  is  no  better  periodical  in  the  language. 

TO   T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

CEDARCKOFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  13,  1868. 
I  went  away  from  home  with  the  hope  of  writing  to  you  and 
hearing  from  you  from  time  to  time,  but  what  with  my  "  Atlan 
tic  "  papers,  and  my  severe  sickness  of  last  winter,  and  a  number 
of  other  things  that  turned  up  on  the  way,  the  golden  leisure  in 
which  correspondence  flourishes  never  came.  Moreover,  I  always 
heard  of  you  through  Fields,  and  perhaps  seemed  nearer  for  that 
reason.  Now  this  quiet  Sunday  morning,  at  home  again,  I  feel 
inclined  to  tell  you  that  you  have  never  been  out  of  my  memory 
or  my  heart,  and  to  reach  you  my  hand  (writing)  in  a  fresh  greet 
ing.  I  think  I  never  before  was  so  glad  to  get  back  from  a  jour 
ney  ;  and  the  prospect  of  getting  to  work  again  in  the  old  track, 
but  with  renewed  courage,  is  very  pleasant.  I  have  at  least  three 
or  four  years'  work  on  hand,  have  resolved  to  cut  short  my  lec 
turing,  and  shall  live  altogether  more  rationally  (for  an  author) 
than  hitherto.  The  illness  was  a  mental  as  well  as  a  physical 
crisis,  which  meant  either  death  or  a  new  birth.  Happily,  it 
proved  to  be  the  latter. 

The  golden  wedding  of  Bayard  Taylor's  father  and 
mother  was  celebrated  at  Cedarcroft  October  15th,  and 
the  house  for  a  week  was  the  centre  of  merry-making 
which  was  not  conducive  to  continuous  work. 

TO    MRS.    JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  19,  1868. 

.  .  .  We  had  a  delightful  commemoration.  There  were  at 
least  a  hundred  and  fifty  members  of  the  family  present,  besides 
neighbors  and  friends.  I  wrote  a  little  masque  of  characters, 
which  was  successfully  performed,  a  song  which  was  sung,  and 
Boker  and  Stoddard  (both  of  whom  were  here)  read  poems.  From 
two  in  the  afternoon  until  midnight  the  house  was  crowded,  and 
I  hardly  know  which  were  happiest,  the  golden  couple  or  the 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  501 

friends  who  came  to  congratulate  them.  It  is  the  third  golden 
wedding  in  a  direct  line  in  the  family,  —  my  father's  father  and 
grandfather  having  had  theirs  ;  but  to  have  mine  I  must  live  to 
be  eighty-two.  .  .  .  We  have  had  our  house  full  of  the  family 
for  a  week,  but  are  to-day  finally  left  to  ourselves,  and  I  take  up 
my  interrupted  work.  I  want  to  finish  the  most  pressing  claims 
by  election  day,  so  that  I  may  find  time  to  run  over  to  Boston 
soon  afterwards  and  see  you  all  again. 

The  little  masque  of  characters  was  a  quaint  and 
simple  device  which  the  poet  used  to  give  expression 
to  the  unusualness  of  the  occasion.  When  the  com 
pany  was  gathered,  he  welcomed  them  with  a  few 
words  and  then  said :  "  You  must  expect  no  more 
from  me  than  a  hearty  welcome  to  each  and  all,  with 
my  thanks,  and  the  thanks  of  my  parents,  wife,  broth 
ers,  and  sisters,  that  you  have  come  together  to  keep 
fresh  the  ties  of  family  and  of  old  friendship.  On 
such  days  as  these,  however,  we  have  other  help.  The 
invisible  Spirits  that  keep  familiar  watch  over  men  — 
the  Virtues  which  both  lead  and  follow,  and  bless 
them  —  the  Spirits  of  the  Lands  through  which  the 
family  is  scattered  —  become  visible  to  mortal  eyes 
and  give  report  of  the  fifty  years  that  have  gone  by. 
I  have  heard  a  whisper  —  no  matter  how  or  whence  — 
that  these  Spirits  will  come  to  us  to-day,  and  I  know 
that  they  will  keep  their  word.  So  I  summon  them 
from  the  sky  and  the  air  and  the  earth !  Come,  Fairy 
of  Domestic  Life,  thou  who  watchest  over  hearths  and 
homes  and  family  ties!  Come,  Virtues  that  accom 
pany  us,  exacting  hard  service  at  first,  but  blessing  us 
in  the  end!  Come,  Spirits  of  Lands  and  of  Coun 
tries,  that  divide  families  only  to  bind  them  more 
firmly,  —  that  seem  to  separate  us  yet  teach  that  God 
is  equally  everywhere,  and  will  bring  us  all  to  his 
peace  at  last !  Come  !  appear !  " 


502  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Thereupon  the  Fairy  of  Domestic  Life  appears  and 
acts  as  the  leader  of  the  masque.  She  greets  the 
couple  with  tender  lines,  and  then  goes  forward  with 
two  attendant  fairies,  a  boy  bearing  a  crown  of  golden 
myrtle  and  a  ring  for  the  bride,  a  girl  with  a  ring  and 
wreath  for  the  bridegroom.  Then,  obedient  to  the 
Fairy,  Truth  comes  forward  with  a  wreath  of  ama 
ranth  which  she  lays  at  the  feet  of  the  couple,  for,  as 
she  says,  — 

In  the  lapse  of  fifty  years 

No  single  act  or  word  appears 

That  is  not  honest,  clear,  and  true. 

None  ever  was  misled  by  you  : 

Your  path  was  open  to  the  light ; 

Your  skirts  are  clear,  your  souls  are  white  ; 

Your  honor  in  the  land  shall  be 

A  sign  and  evidence  to  me. 

I  give  the  garland  that  endures  : 

My  crown  of  amaranth  is  yours. 

Next  follows  Charity  with  a  wreath  of  cedar :  — 

I  will  not  praise  in  studied  words  ; 
The  tree  that  feeds  the  winter  birds 
Must  give  the  wreath  that  tells  of  me  ; 
And  green  as  is  that  kindly  tree 
In  loving  hearts  your  memory  be  ! 

Temperance  bears  a  goblet  of  water  and  drinks  to 
those 

Whose  lives  have  shown 
The  strength  that  comes  from  me  alone. 

America,  with  a  wreath  of  laurel  in  her  hand,  sings 
of  the  sacrifice  which  the  father  and  mother  have 
made ;  Africa,  with  a  wreath  of  ferns  and  tropical 
flowers,  gives  thanks  for  the  steadfast  sympathy  which 
her  oppressed  race  has  received  from  these  two  who 
have  from  early  days  borne  contumely  for  their  sake. 


A    YEAR   AT  CEDARCROFT.  503 

Then  Switzerland  brings  a  wreath  of  life-everlasting 
representing  the  edelweiss  of  the  Alps,  in  token  of  the 
son  whom  a  daughter  of  the  house  had  brought  from 
Switzerland,  and  Germany  with  a  wreath  of  oak 
leaves  signifies  likewise  the  daughter  whom  a  son  had 
brought.  Then  all  the  characters,  who  had  retired  a 
few  paces,  now  form  a  circle  and  unite  in  singing  a 
song  written  by  Bayard  Taylor.  Mr.  Stoddard  and 
Mr.  Boker  followed  with  poems.  The  song  and  poems 
were  afterwards  published  in  "  Lippincott's  Maga 
zine,"  and  Mr.  Lippincott  generously  printed  them  with 
the  "  Masque  "  in  a  little  volume,  for  the  pleasure  of 
those  concerned.  The  three  poets  added  photographs 
and  gave  the  volume  as  a  surprise  at  Christmas  to 
Bayard  Taylor's  mother. 

Mr.  Donald  G.  Mitchell  was  at  this  time  editor  of 
a  new  weekly  journal,  "Hearth  and  Home,"  which 
aimed  at  stimulating  a  healthy  interest  in  country  life. 
It  was  for  this  journal  that  Bayard  Taylor  wrote  some 
papers  descriptive  of  his  experiments  at  Cedarcroft, 
an  extract  from  which  has  already  been  given.1 

TO   DONALD   G.    MITCHELL. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  November  16, 1868. 

I  found  your  letter  at  the  Astor  House  in  passing  through 
New  York  on  my  way  home  from  Boston.  There  was  no  time 
or  I  should  have  called  upon  you  and  had  a  little  talk  concern 
ing  the  enterprise  which  I  had  already  seen  noticed,  and  hailed 
with  delight. 

I  have  withdrawn  from  the  lecturing  field  this  winter,  because 
my  engagements  to  write  are  sufficient  to  occupy  all  my  time, 
and  thus  enable  me  to  live  quietly  and  much  more  comfortably 
at  home.  I  should  hesitate  about  accepting  any  more  work  just 
now,  were  not  your  proposal  so  agreeable,  and  so  easy  to  per 
form,  —  for  you  want  a  simple,  clear  narrative  of  facts  which 
are  all  ready  to  hand.  When  will  the  journal  commence  ?  and 
i  Ante,  pp.  361-364. 


504  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

when  do  you  need  the  articles  ?  I  could  send  you  a  photograph 
of  the  house  and  make  out  a  ground  plan  myself,  if  you  think  it 
would  interest  your  readers.  With  regard  to  the  gardening  ex 
periments,  I  can  only  tell  my  story  up  to  the  present  moment. 
I  have  other  things  on  hand,  but  not  sufficiently  developed  to 
write  about.  What  would  your  publishers  pay  for  an  article 
equal  to,  say  eight  pages  of  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly  "  ? 

No  man  can  do  better  work  for  this  country  and  people  than 
to  create  such  a  taste  for  country  life  as  will  elevate  and  refine 
the  character  of  our  country  society.  I  have  read  your  articles 
in  the  "  Atlantic  Almanac  "  with  great  pleasure,  and  hope  that 
your  success  in  the  new  enterprise  will  be  equal  to  your  knowl 
edge  of  the  subject,  and  your  ability  to  illustrate  it. 

I  write  hurriedly  this  morning,  but  I  want  you  to  believe,  at 
least,  that  I  am  earnestly  interested  in  your  plan. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

CEDARCKOFT,  December  30,  1868. 

.  .  .  The  season  has  been  propitious  thus  far  ;  my  seat  at  the 
library  table  looks  directly  through  a  glass  door  into  the  green 
house,  and  the  western  window  of  the  oriel  gives  me  wonderful 
sunsets.  The  cedars  around  and  about  us  are  never  so  green  as 
now,  and  the  distant  hills  are  no  bluer  in  summer.  With  my 
writing,  —  now  that  I  have  worked  off  a  colossal  dead  horse  for 
Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.,  —  it  goes  cheerfully,  and  every  evening  I 
take  a  little  of  "  Faust "  as  a  self -reward  for  the  morning  indus 
try.  Goethe  says  (in  "  Tasso  ")  :  — 

"  Es  bildet  ein  Talent  sich  in  der  Stille  ; " 

"  Talent  develops  and  forms  itself  in  seclusion,"  —  which  I  hope 
may  be  half  true  in  my  case. 

TO  JAMES    T.   FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  January  1,  1869. 

This  poem l  (just  written)  is  properly  a  pendant  to  "  The  Sun 
shine  of  the  Gods."  That  celebrated  the  poet,  and  this  the  un 
known  receiver  of  the  song. 

I  hope  the  thing  will  be  clear  to  your  mind  on  reading  ;  it  is  to 

mine,  and  I  could  not  write  it  in  any  other  form.     If  you  like  it, 

pray  postpone  the  "  Run  Wild,"  and  let  this  come  first.     If  my 

reader  of  the  "  Sunshine  "  should  remember  it,  he  will  be  pre- 

i  "  Notus  Iguoto." 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  505 

pared  to  understand  and  accept  this  ;  at  least,  so  it  seems  to 
me. 

Perhaps  you  can  tell  whether  Notus  may  be  used  in  a  personal 
sense.  If  so,  the  title  is  correct  —  "The  Known  to  the  Un 
known."  I  think  I  should  risk  it,  in  any  case,  but  would  like  to 
have  the  opinion  of  a  good  Latinist.  If  you  see  Lowell  pray 
ask  him  for  me. 

I  write  this  on  the  evening  of  New  Year's  Day,  the  sleeted 
trees  rattling  and  crashing  with  a  terrible  sound.  Many  happy 
New- Years  to  both  of  you  ! 

CEDARCBOFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  January  14,  1869. 
...  As  to  the  poem,1  the  difficulty  seems  to  be  that  you  have 
entirely  misfelt  it.  It  is  one  of  those  purely  imaginative  dithy- 
rambics  which  have  a  law  of  their  own,  and  in  which  the  rhyth 
mical  march  is  the  main  thing.  Like  similar  things  of  Shelley, 
it  may  be  read  here  and  there  with  a  wrong  accent,  and  I  suspect 
this  is  just  what  you  have  done.  Of  all  your  criticisms  I  only 
feel  that  what  you  say  of  the  last  two  lines  of  the  first  stanza  is 
partly  true.  Those  lines  are  rather  grave  and  heavy  for  the 
airy,  spiritual  movement  of  the  poem.  The  other  lines,  which 
you  call  "  especially  bad,"  are  not  Only  good,  but  some  of  them 
especially  good,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  can  change  one  of  them. 
As  for  the  "  inadequate  termination,"  this  is  just  one  of  those 
poems  which  can  have  no  purposed  beginning  or  end.  It  is  much 
better  than  the  "  Sunshine  of  the  Gods,"  and  it  ought  properly 
to  follow  that  poem.  I  am  always  glad  to  get  criticism,  no  mat 
ter  how  adverse,  and  I  always  accept  it  when  it  carries  with  it 
that  mark  of  sympathetic  understanding  which  shows  that  my 
poem  has  been  truly  felt.  But  all  the  criticism  in  the  world  will 
not  make  me  change  a  line  which  I  feel  to  be  the  true  expression 
of  my  thought.  "  Notus  Ignoto  "  is  not  the  sort  of  poem  to 
keep  by  one's  self  and  file  at,  like  most  poems.  It  is  like  one  of 
those  effects  in  painting  which  must  be  done  with  a  sweep  of  the 
brush,  and  not  touched  afterwards.  But  to  one  who  does  not  feel 
it  instantly  and  wholly,  the  poem  is  mere  sounding  brass.  It  is 
one  of  the  very  darlings  of  my  brain,  and  is,  to  me,  as  good  as 
anything  that  ever  was,  or  ever  can  be,  of  its  kind.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  ever  touch  a  word  of  it,  —  and  there  will  some  day 

1  The  one  referred  to  in  the  previous  letter.  Mr.  Fields  had  returned 
it  with  objections. 


506  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

be  somebody  to  know  what  it  is.  As  you  like  its  predecessor,  I 
felt  tolerably  sure  that  it  would  have  touched  you  in  the  right 
place,  and  I  have  not  often  been  so  taken  aback  as  by  your  re 
marks  upon  it. 

But  enough  of  this.  I  merely  want  to  show,  or  try  to  show, 
how  we  differ.  I  should  not  write  anything  about  it,  only  I 
know  that  you  are  sincere,  and  that  you  honestly  think  the  poem 
a  poor  one. 

My  wife  joins  me  in  love  to  yours. 

The  first  draft  of  the  translation  of  the  First  Part  of 
"  Faust "  was  completed  with  the  year  1868,  and  the 
new  year  was  begun  immediately  by  an  attack  on 
the  Second  Part.  He  knew  well  that  he  should  be 
obliged  to  overcome  a  general  prejudice  if  he  would 
persuade  people  to  read  the  Second  Part ;  but  he  had 
long  held  the  belief  that  the  First  Part  by  itself  was 
only  a  fragment,  and  needed  the  Second  to  bring  out 
its  full  meaning.  The  great  work  drew  him,  and  the 
incontestable  difficulties  only  stimulated  him. 

TO  REV.   W.   H.   FURNESS. 

CEDARCROFT,  January  14,  1869. 

...  I  think  a  translator  should  have  a  nearly  equal  knowledge 
of  both  languages,  in  order  to  get  that  spirit  above  and  beyond 
the  words  which  simple  literalness  will  never  give.  The  best 
condition  is  that  in  which  one  knows  both  languages  so  well  that 
he  does  not  need  to  break  his  head  in  the  hunt  for  words,  but 
keeps  his  best  strength  for  that  part  of  thought  which  subtly 
expresses  itself  in  metre  and  harmony.  This  is  my  chief  effort ; 
the  sense  of  the  original  has,  so  far,  given  me  little  trouble,  — 
but,  how  to  put  the  same  sense  best  into  the  same  form  ?  How 
ever,  I  guess  you  see  what  I  am  trying  to  do  by  this  time,  and 
therefore  prefer  specimens  to  theories  or  views.  I  am  much 
more  delighted  with  the  Second  Part  —  now  that  I  take  it  line 
by  line  —  than  I  expected  to  be  ;  and  it  makes  a  much  better 
appearance  in  English.  Bernays  andAnster  should  have  been 
knocked  on  the  head  before  prejudicing  English  readers  against 
the  poem  by  their  stupid  translations.  No  wonder  people  think 
it  so  dull ! 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  507 

I  have  just  obtained  a  third  translation  of  the  Second  Part  — 
Macdonald's  —  so  now,  I  believe  I  know  all  that  have  been  made  ! 
and  they  are  equally  bad.  If  you  are  familiar  with  it,  I  shall 
greatly  enjoy  your  suggestions  after  a  while. 

I  do  not  intend  to  commence  the  revision  of  the  translation 
until  I  have  put 

"  Das  Ewigweibliche 
Zieht  uns  hiaaii  " 

into  English.  The  first  draft  of  the  work  requires  warmth  ;  the 
revision,  coolness.  I  only  inclose  your  MS.  because  I  am  uncer 
tain  whether  you  have  another  copy.  If  you  have,  or  after  you 
have  used  this,  pray  return  it  when  you  have  leisure,  as  I  wish  to 
use  it  when  the  proper  time  comes. 

Tell  Mrs.  Wistar  that  I  would  like  to  oblige  her,  —  that  I  have 
all  confidence  in  her  discretion,  —  but  I  am  afraid  of  accidents, 
and  must  beg  her  to  have  a  little  patience  with  me.  It  would 
be,  as  the  Germans  say,  hoechst  fatal  to  me,  if  even  a  stanza  or 
couplet  of  the  work  should  stray  from  me  before  I  am  ready  to 
give  the  whole.  Perhaps  I  am  unnecessarily  nervous  ;  but  two 
years  ago  I  said  something  about  my  commenced  translation  to 
a  friend,  and  within  three  months  there  was  an  article  in  a  New 
York  paper  misstating  my  design,  criticising  it  in  advance,  and 
predicting  failure.  Since  then  the  statement  of  my  being  en 
gaged  upon  the  work  has  been  so  frequently  made,  that  it  is  no 
longer  a  secret,  and  I  am  so  far  advanced  that  I  am  quite  ready 
to  show  and  consult  about  passages,  where  I  feel  safe,  as  I  do 
with  yourself.  What  I  have  sent  to  you  is  the  first  and  only 
specimen  that  has  gone  out  of  my  own  hands.  But  need  I  make 
further  explanation  to  an  author  —  nay,  two  authors  ?  I  am 
very  glad  that  you  like  my  German  proem.  It  is  rather  a  rash 
undertaking,  and  I  must  either  succeed  well  or  not  try. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  Sunday  evening,  January  17,  1869. 
I  had  no  idea  that  Bryant's  "  Iliad  "  was  so  nearly  finished. 
It  will  be  a  success,  and  I  am  very  glad  you  are  going  to  bring 
it  out. 

Now,  if  I  can  do  equally  well  by  "  Faust,"  it  will  be  something 
remarkable  that  the  three  greatest  poems  outside  of  the  English 
language  should  appear  so  near  together  in  American  transla 
tions.  I  am  working  like  a  beaver  on  the  first  act  of  the  Second 


508  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Part,  the  First  Part  being  finished.     To  morrow  I  begin  work 
on  my  novel,  so  it  is  pretty  sure  to  be  finished  by  June. 

The  novel  was  "Joseph  and  his  Friend,"  which 
Bayard  Taylor  had  agreed  to  write  for  serial  publi 
cation  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly."  It  was  not  com 
pleted  so  early  as  he  had  hoped,  but  occupied  him  at 
different  times  during  this  year  and  part  of  the  next. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  January  22,  1869. 

...  I  also  have  since  sent  my  poem  1  to  two  poets ,  asking 
their  views  about  the  lines  and  expression  to  which  you  object. 
Their  judgment  almost  exactly  coincides  with  mine. 

The  first  two  lines  mentioned  are  pronounced  rather  too  heavy  ; 
all  the  others  are  declared  good.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  I 
shall  not  change  the  line  commencing  "  His  nostrils,"  etc.,  nor 
those  ending  with  "starvest"  and  "harvest."  The  latter  is  an 
unusual,  perfect,  and  delightful  rhyme.  My  critics  consider  the 
poem  better  than  "  The  Sunshine  of  the  Gods,"  as  I  do.  So  we 
are  equally  balanced,  as  far  as  authority  is  concerned.  .  .  . 

One  thing,  however,  I  claim,  and  I  think  you  will  find  it  reason 
able.  Each  poet  has  his  own  individual  mode  of  expressing  his 
conceptions,  and  now  and  then  inevitably  makes  use  of  words, 
lines,  and  rhymes  which  others  would  wish  to  see  changed.  Who 
does  this  more  than  Browning  ?  Who  in  America,  more  than 
Lowell  ?  Even  the  patient  and  fine-minded  Longfellow  some 
times  commits  flagrant  offenses  against  my  sense  (and  no  doubt 
yours)  of  beauty.  It  is  so,  and  must  be  so,  with  all  poets.  Now, 
a  poet  is  very  wrong  -not  to  correct  a  fault  made  evident  to  his 
poetic  sense,  but  equally  wrong  to  change  a  word,  if  its  faulty 
character  is  not  so  made  evident.  That  is  my  creed,  and  I  must 
stand  or  fall  by  it. 

But  I  beg  of  you,  my  dear  Fields,  don't  let  my  paternal  zeal 
prevent  you  from  giving  your  views  always  and  freely.  If  I 
seem  to  be  stirred  up  at  first,  on  being  stroked  the  wrong  way, 
you  may  be  sure  it  is  only  a  temporary  electrical  snapping,  and 
I  shall  soon  be  purring  again. 

My  wife  joins  me  in  best  love  to  yours.  When,  oh,  when  shall 
I  get  Browning's  second  volume  ? l  I  pine  for  it. 

1  "Notuslgnoto." 

2  The  Ring  and  the  Book. 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  509 


JAMES   T.  FIELDS   TO   BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

BOSTON,   February  3,  1869. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  kind  note  of  the  22d  of  Janu 
ary.  If  my  hand  were  not  lame,  and  I  could  manipulate  the  pen 
with  such  perfection  of  chirography  as  you  have  always  done,  I 
would  gladly  always  shake  my  own  fist  over  the  paper  at  you. 
But  nowadays  I  can  just  make  out  to  sign  my  name,  only,  and 
this  must  be  my  excuse  for  all  amanuensory  letters  you  get  from 
me.  I  never  quarrel  with  a  poet's  individuality,  and  offer  any 
strictures  on  a  piece  of  verse  with  great  editorial  modesty,  but 
if  the  poem  I  returned  is  really  better  than  "  The  Sunshine  of  the 
Gods,"  I  will  eat  a  complete  set  of  your  works,  and  have  dear 
old  George  Putnam  thrown  in,  for  sauce.  However,  some  day  I 
hope  to  be  out  of  this  business  and  quietly  laid  away  in  some 
uneditorial  corner. 

BAYARD   TAYLOR   TO   MRS.   JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  February  7,  1869. 

...  I  want  to  give  you  a  water-color  sketch  in  place  of  that 
dreadful  Arcadian  temple,  which  I  did  n't  know  was  so  bad  until 
I  saw  it  again.  I  think  I  had  better  make  it  the  same  size,  in 
order  to  feel  more  sure  that  you  will  take  the  other  one  out  of 
the  frame  ;  so,  if  you  will  let  me  have  the  dimensions,  I  will  have 
the  picture  ready  by  May  and  give  it  to  you  when  you  both  come 
here  with  Whittier.  Then,  you  may  give  the  Arcadian  temple 
to  your  amiable  cook  with  my  compliments,  only  she  must  not 
look  at  it  while  compounding  sauces  or  salad-dressings.  If  she 
don't  want  it,  let  it  be  hung  up  the  chimney  and  well  smoked  for 
three  months,  when  it  may  pass  for  a  Byzantine  landscape  of  the 
ninth  century.  Even  then,  I  doubt  whether  it  would  be  safe  to 
have  it  on  hand  in  a  cholera  season. 

We  have  the  loveliest  weather  here  ;  sometimes,  but  not 
often,  the  thermometer  gets  down  to  eighteen  degrees  ;  the 
willow  and  lilac  buds  are  swelling,  and  it  is  delightful  to  lounge 
about  in  the  open  air.  This  a  little  reconciles  me  to  the  loss 
of  Emerson's  readings,  and  the  other  good  things  which  you 
lucky  folks  enjoy. 

Don't  forget  the  picture-measure ! 
To  make  a  new  one  is  a  pleasure, 
And  I  shall  do  it  in  April  leisure ! 


510  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

TO   PAUL   H.    HAYNE. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  6, 1869. 

.  .  .  For  your  kind  appreciation  of  my  poems  I  am  sincerely 
grateful.  I  place  little  value  upon  what  is  called  "  popularity," 
since  it  is  generally  based  on  the  more  obvious  qualities  of  po 
etry.  To  estimate  the  soul  and  spirit  requires  a  higher  culture 
than  the  mass  of  one's  readers  possesses.  Now,  for  instance,  you 
are  the  second  man  who  has  ever  spoken  of  my  "  Desert  Hymn 
to  the  Sun,"  —  yet  I  felt  when  I  wrote  it,  and  still  feel,  that  it 
expressed  what  I  intended.  I  almost  think  that  the  real  excel 
lence  of  a  poem  is  in  inverse  ratio  to  its  popularity. 

I  shall  be  delighted  to  send  you  my  "Picture  of  St.  John." 
As  it  happens,  I  have  not  a  copy  in  my  house  at  present,  and 
must  first  send  to  Boston  ;  but  you  may  look  for  it  in  a  fortnight, 
at  the  latest.  I  shall  also  send  you  the  previously  collected  edi 
tion  of  my  poems,  published  in  1864,  which  will  replace  some 
things  you  have  lost.  If  /  had  been  with  Sherman's  army,  I 
would  have  tried  hard  to  save  your  library  and  Sinmis'  also. 
I  am  so  near  the  (former)  border  that  while  I  was  in  Russia  dur 
ing  the  war,  my  parents,  just  before  the  battle  of  Gettysburg, 
buried  all  my  manuscripts.  If  my  place  had  been  sixty  miles 
farther  westward,  my  books  would  have  gone  too.  But  I  trust 
we  shall  all  outlive  the  scars  of  these  late  terrible  years. 

TO   MRS.    MARIE   BLOEDE. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  20,  1869. 

I  am  most  heartily  obliged  to  you  for  the  passage  from 
Grimm.  In  my  Introduction  to  "  Faust "  I  intend  to  say  some 
thing  of  the  kinship  of  the  two  languages  ;  for  I  find  that 
Goethe's  method  of  using  German  approaches  some  features  of 
the  English  language.  This  passage  of  Grimm  is  just  what  I 
want,  and  I  shall  quote  it  in  my  Introduction  to  the  translation. 
I  intend  to  try  to  prove  that  no  great  poem  can  be  transferred 
with  less  loss  than  the  German  of  "  Faust "  into  the  English  lan 
guage,  —  and  to  make  this  a  part  of  my  justification  for  rigidly 
preserving  the  original  metres.  Thanks,  again  ! 

Since  I  saw  you  I  have  succeeded  in  untangling  the  semi-Gor- 
dian  knots  of  the  "  Classische  Walpurgisnacht,"  and  it  now  seems 
tolerably  clear  to  me.  It  is  necessary  to  separate  the  extraneous 
matter  from  that  which  strictly  belongs  to  Goethe's  original 
plan.  Singularly  enough,  the  German  commentators  have  not 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  511 

done  this  fully.  My  task  will  be  to  simplify  the  explanation  of 
"  Faust,"  and  exhibit  it  as  a  clear  and  comprehensible  (though 
not  always  consistent)  whole.  In  doing  so,  I  must  clear  away  the 
rubbish  cast  upon  the  poem  by and  that  class  of  expound 
ers.  But  it  is  a  delightful,  refreshing,  satisfying  labor,  which  at 
tracts  me  more  and  more.  I  confess  that  the  result  of  my  ex 
periment  with  you  —  in  reading  passages  from  my  first  revised 
translation  —  has  given  me  great  encouragement.  The  number 
of  my  friends  who  know  both  English  and  German  equally  well 
is  small,  and  when  they  approve,  I  feel  safe.  I  feel  that  this  is  a 
most  important  work  :  indeed,  an  English  "  Faust "  seems  to  me 
the  next  thing  to  writing  a  great  original  epic.  I  am  determined 
that  English  readers  shall  have  a  chance  of  knowing  Goethe's 
greatness,  which  they  never  can  through  the  translations  hereto 
fore  published. 

Did  you  see  a  ballad  of  mine  —  "  Napoleon  at  Gotha  "  —  in 
"  Putnam  "  for  March  ? 

Mrs.  Bloede,  in  replying  to  this  letter,  offered  a  crit 
icism  of  the  poem,  "  Napoleon  at  Gotha,"  in  which  she 
said,  "  I  am  of  opinion  that  it  runs  on  too  broad  and 
comfortable  a  track,  though  otherwise  it  may  be  fault 
less.  You  will  understand  what  I  mean.  The  inten 
sity  of  feeling  loses  always  in  proportion  as  the  thread 
is  spun  out  smoothly  to  its  full  length.  A  more  con 
densed,  concise  form,  even  if  more  rugged,  would  ren 
der  it  more  effective."  To  which  the  poet  replied :  — 

TO   MRS.   MARIE   BLOEDE. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  29,  1869. 
I  am  always  glad  to  get  your  criticisms,  for  they  are  both  hon 
est  and  good-natured.  What  you  say  of  the  poem  may  be  true  : 
I  can  only  answer  that  I  told  the  story  in  my  way,  which  is 
rather  the  contemplative  than  the  sensational.  I  don't  say  it  is 
the  best,  but  I  do  say  that  an  author  should  study  his  own  quali 
ties  and  adopt  that  character  df  expression  which  best  befits 
them.  This  I  have  done,  or  rather,  tried  to  do  ;  and  therefore, 
whether  the  poem  be  good  or  bad,  I  could  not  have  written  it  so 
well  in  a  condensed  and  rugged  form.  As  it  is,  it  is  received  by 

VOL.  II.  7 


512  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

some  classes  of  minds  ;  for  I  had  an  enthusiastic  letter  about  it 
from  a  well-known  poet  the  other  day.  On  the  whole,  I  feel  that 
repose  is  the  secret  of  Art :  if  I  carry  it  too  far  I  do  wrong,  but 
the  tendency  of  the  popular  taste  just  now  is  for  "  fine  writing." 
This,  I  am  sure,  is  false,  is  temporary  ;  and  the  next  twenty 
years  will  overturn  some  present  brilliant  literary  reputations. 
In  trying  to  keep  clear  of  the  fashion  of  the  day,  I  may  err  on 
the  opposite  side  ;  this  is  very  easy,  but  also  easy  to  be  cor 
rected. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

CEDARCROFT,  May  5,  1869. 

...  I  am  working  on  the  Fifth  Act  of  the  Second  Part  of 
"  Faust,"  and  have  just  received  a  great  package  of  German, 
French,  and  English  criticism  and  translation,  a  glance  into 
which  gave  me  new  courage,  for  I  see  that  I  have  solved  various 
things  which  are  still  mysteries  to  the  aforesaid  critics.  Blaze 
and  Marmier,  I  find,  appreciate  Goethe,  but  they  can't  translate. 
The  material  is  increasing  and  growing  richer,  and  my  bother 
will  be  what  to  omit.  I  intend  to  add  the  Paralipomena,  and 
supposed  I  should  be  the  first :  but  Blaze  got  the  idea  before 
me,  I  find.  I  shall  have  to  dip  deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
early  Greek  mythology,  and  read  up  certain  geological  theories, 
—  indeed,  there  is  no  end  to  the  lateral  studies  which  "  Faust  " 
requires. 

Our  woods  are  green,  lilacs  and  laburnums  coming  into  blos 
som.  My  prospect  for  fruit  is  astounding,  and  I  hope  this  year 
to  get  some  tolerable  returns  for  much  patience,  care,  and  ex 
pense.  I  hoe  and  sweat  two  or  three  hours  every  day,  work 
regularly  and  faithfully  at  my  desk,  and  seem  to  be  growing 
into  a  fresh  productiveness.  The  other  day  I  wrote  a  good  poem 
of  two  hundred  and  forty  lines,  —  "  Shekh  Ahnaf 's  Letter  from 
Bagdad,"  —  and  the  sprouts  of  new  poems  are  coming  up  as 
thick  as  the  white- weeds  in  my  strawberry-patch.  Moreover,  I 
have  written  a  speech  which  it  will  take  me  an  hour  and  a  half 
to  deliver  (where,  I  won't  yet  say),  and  am  revolving  in  my 
brain  the  Ode  for  the  Gettysburg  Dedication.  This  is  true  life, 
and  I  am  most  happy  in  being  able  to  lead  it. 

On  the  15th  of  May,  Bayard  Taylor  completed  the 
first  draft  of  his  translation  of  "  Faust."  He  imme- 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  513 

diately  turned  to  the  composition  of  the  ode  which  he 
had  engaged  to  write  for  the  dedication  of  the  national 
monument  at  Gettysburg  on  the  1st  of  July.     Pro 
foundly  moved  as  he  was  by  all  that  Gettysburg  meant 
to  him,  with  its  personal  as  well  as  national  associa 
tions,  he   yet  dreaded  a  task  which   was  so  foreign 
from  his  habits  of  mind.    While  working  upon  the 
translation  of  "  Faust,"  he  had  stopped  now  and  then, 
to  free  himself  of  a  poem  which  came  unbidden  but 
welcome.     To  write  poetry  when  he  was  giving  shape 
images  which  visited  him  was  always  an  exquisite 
lelight.     He  would  spare  no  labor  in  perfecting  the 
form,  although  indeed  the  form  was  almost  born  with 
le  image,  and  his  part  was  but  to  set  down  that  which 
issed  like  the  flight  of  a  heavenly  bird  through  his 
dnd ;  but  to  elaborate,  with  toilsome  art,  a  concep- 
ion  sought  for  to  fit  a  certain  need,  —  that  was  unnat- 
to  him  and  rarely  gave  him  satisfaction.     There 
a  freedom  in  the  normal  action  of  his  imagi 
nation  which  was  fretted  by  the  limitations  of  an  oc- 
don. 

The  Gettysburg  ode  was  followed  a  few  days  after- 
by  the  address  given  at  Guilford,  Conn.,  on  the 
iasion  of  unveiling  the  statue  erected  to  the  mem- 
>ry  of  Fitz-Greene  Halleck.1     In  the  midst  of  these 
pupations,  Bayard  Taylor  was  solicited  to  accept  the 
>st  of  non-resident  professor  of  German  literature  at 
)rnell  University.     The  duties  of  the  place  were  con- 
3d  to  the  delivery  of   a  course   of  lectures,  and 
accepted  the  office  with  pleasure,  since  it  would 
lable  him  to  speak  of  matters  which  lay  in  the  direct 
of  his  studies.     The  work  on  "  Faust "  had  been 
absorbing  that  he  had  laid  aside  his  novel  for  a 

1  Republished  in  Essays  and  Notes. 


514  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

time,  since  lie  wished  to  give  each  in  its  turn  his  full 
thought. 

While  these  larger  and  graver  works  gave  a  con 
tinuity  to  his  thought  and  life,  he  was  busy  in  the 
intervals  with  literary  labor  which  would  have  been 
sufficient  occupation  to  most  men.  Shortly  after  his 
return  from  Europe  he  had  engaged  to  prepare  for 
"  Putnam's  Magazine  "  the  monthly  chronicle  of  foreign 
literature  and  art,  and  this  labor  he  continued  to  per 
form  until  the  magazine  was  discontinued.  He  was 
constantly  contributing  to  the  "  Tribune  "  also  special 
criticisms  of  books,  which  were  of  course  anonymous. 
"  Pray  don't  let  it  be  known,"  he  writes  to  Mr.  Reid, 
"  who  reviews  these  poets,  or  some  of  them  will  be 
after  me  like  hornets ;  "  but  there  was  an  absence  of 
any  personal  feeling  in  such  work,  so  far  as  he  could 
suppress  a  thoroughly  affectionate  nature.  He  valued 
the  universal  in  criticism  too  highly  to  allow  himself 
the  cheap  luxury  of  praising  his  friends  at  the  expense 
of  honest  inquiry  into  the  excellence  of  their  work. 

His  country  life  brought  as  usual  a  stream  of  visit 
ors  to  the  house,  and  gave  him  also  the  opportunity  of 
enjoying  certain  other  felicities  and  trials  pertaining 
to  the  country  gentleman.  He  bought  more  land  and 
was  continually  devising  improvements  upon  his  es 
tate.  There  was  an  immense  satisfaction  in  pruning 
his  own  trees,  but  he  was  too  deep  in  the  toils  of  a 
great  place  to  withhold  his  hand  from  changes  which 
draw  a  chain  of  other  changes  after  them.  Then  he 
found  himself,  like  other  landed  proprietors,  called 
upon  to  protect  his  place.  A  neighbor  proposed  to 
the  township  to  cut  a  road  through  it,  and  the  poet- 
proprietor,  who  valued  his  place  for  what  it  was  to 
himself,  had  to  fight  hard  to  keep  his  wild  woods  from 


A  YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  515 

falling  before  the  axe  of  the  road-maker.  The  neigh 
borhood  had  always  criticised  Bayard  Taylor,  and  he 
had  quite  refused  to  order  his  life  and  conduct  by  the 
canons  which  were  accepted  about  him.  Nor  would  he 
quietly  go  his  own  way  and  pay  no  attention  to  the 
criticism.  It  offended  his  sense  of  justice  and  of 
catholicity.  He  found  a  satisfaction  in  going  before 
his  neighbors  in  one  of  their  customary  conventions, 
and  declaring  distinctly  just  what  he  understood  by 
reform,  and  what  was  its  relation  to  art,  for  art  was 
one  of  the  great  laws  of  his  life. 

It  was  impossible  that  the  constant  friction  should 
not  weary  him.  He  wished  to  lead  a  poetic  life,  free 
and  wholesome.  He  was  driven  by  the  demands  which 
his  estate  made  upon  him.  He  had  a  hearty,  unaffected 
welcome  for  his  friends,  and  they  could  not  stay  too 
long ;  but  others,  who  had  no  claim  upon  his  friend 
ship,  made  one  on  his  hospitality.  He  was  vexed  and 
teased  by  the  petty  gossip  which  assailed  him,  and  by 
the  direct  assaults  upon  his  freedom.  This  constant 
stream  of  ignominious  troubles  was  wearing  away  his 
patience,  and  gradually  lessening  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  had  turned  to  Cedarcroft  as  containing  the 
satisfaction  of  his  earthly  desires. 

Nevertheless,  this  return  to  his  native  place  and  his 
familiar  life  there  summer  and  winter  bore  other  fruit. 
It  is  only  those  who  have  been  away  from  the  country 
who  are  able  to  see  it  as  it  is,  and  Bayard  Taylor, 
coming  back  to  Kennett  Square,  after  going  the  rounds 
of  the  world,  was  keenly  observant  of  the  characteris 
tics  of  the  people  and  nature  about  him.  He  had 
already  reproduced  some  of  the  impressions  in  his 
three  novels,  especially  in  "  The  Story  of  Kennett," 
but  he  was  to  give  a  higher  expression  through  a 


516  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

higher  form  of  art.  The  volume  containing  "The 
Poet's  Journal "  had  included,  among  the  other  poems, 
the  ballad  of  "  The  Quaker  Widow."  The  form  and 
subject  both  pleased  him  then,  and  in  the  spring  of  this 
year  he  added  two  others,  "The  Old  Pennsylvania 
Farmer"  and  "The  Holly  Tree."  He  was  conscious 
that  he  had  opened  a  new  vein,  and  now,  later  in  the 
season,  he  wrote  the  poem  to  which  he  gave  the  name 
of  "  An  August  Pastoral,"  and  so  published  it  in  the 
"  Atlantic,"  but  afterward  gave  it  a  place  in  the  series 
of  "  Home  Pastorals."  Into  this  poem  he  poured  the 
sunshine  of  his  Pennsylvania  home,  and  suffered  the 
motes  of  a  half-playful,  half-serious  reverie  to  float  in 
the  beams.  Nowhere  else  can  one  find  so  well  the  con 
fession  of  this  poet,  written  at  a  time  when  fortune  and 
fame  seemed  to  be  parting  company,  fame  awaiting 
him  in  the  near  distance,  and  fickle  fortune  turning 
her  back  upon  him.  It  was,  moreover,  a  time  when 
he  looked  almost  wistfully  at  nature,  loving  her  with  a 
backward  glance,  since  the  great  drama  of  human  life, 
as  embodied  in  "Faust,"  had  so  engrossed  his  thought 
that  it  was  to  be  in  vain  for  him  thereafter  to  content 
himself  with  anything  less  than  the  cosmic  in  nature 
and  humanity. 

The  choice  of  form  in  these  pastorals  and  ballads 
led  him  to  study  closely  the  structure  of  the  hexame 
ter,  and  to  take  great  interest  in  similar  productions. 
His  friend,  Mr.  Stedman,  had  lately  been  essaying  this 
verse,  and  to  him  naturally  he  turned  with  his  thoughts. 
His  "  Faust "  work  also  continued  to  enter  into  his 
correspondence. 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  517 


TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  14,  1869. 

...  I  am  over  busy,  having  all  sorts  of  work  going  on  exter 
nally  on  the  farm,  and  trying  with  all  my  might  to  finish  a  new 
novel  by  October.  We  have  had  an  immense  rush  of  visitors 
(and  not  always  the  right  kind)  this  summer,  and  my  regular 
habits  have  been  broken  up. 

I  saw  Lowell's  review  of  the  "  Prince,"  —  friendly  and  candid 
I  think  it.  What  he  says  of  hexameters  is  exactly  true.  The 
Germans  have  discovered  the  best  modern  hexameter.  I  can  rap 
idly  give  you  an  idea  of  it  :  — 

Four  feet  dactylic,  with  an  occasional  trochee  to  vary  the 
music. 

The  fifth  inevitably  a  dactyl. 

The  sixth  generally  a  trochee,  but  now  and  then  a  spondee,  in 
troduced  when  necessary  to  rest  the  ear. 

No  spondaic  feet  in  the  middle  of  the  line. 

This  is  the  usual  form,  and  it  is  very  agreeable  :  — 
—  ^j  |  —  w^l  —  wv^l  —  w  I  —  ^J  w  I  —  <^> 

Try  a  dozen  lines,  and  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  get  the  effect. 

In  spite  of  other  work,  and  my  manifold  distractions,  I  have 
written  several  good  short  poems  this  summer.  The  Lord  grant 
that  your  bondage  in  that  awful  human  wilderness  of  the  Gold 
Room  —  or  whatever  it  is  —  has  not  been  in  vain  ! 

TO  R.   H.   CHITTEXDEN. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  12,  1869. 

I  cannot  allow  Dr.  Bloede  to  return  to  Brooklyn  without  tak 
ing  to  you  my  thanks  for  the  work  you  forwarded  to  me  through 
him.  I  already  possessed  it,  but  it  was  not  therefore  any  the 
less  welcome.  Your  translation  of  "  Reichlin-Meldegg's  Com 
mentary  "  has  the  advantage  of  brevity  and  clearness,  and  is  of 
special  service  to  those  who  can  only  know  "Faust  "  through 
translations. 

My  own  translation  of  both  parts  is  completed,  but  I  shall 
require  nearly  a  year  more  for  the  notes  and  the  final  revision. 
I  wish  to  give  the  sum  of  all  German  criticism  and  comment, 
—  briefly,  of  course,  —  and  especially  to  make  the  Second  Part 
clear,  in  spite  of  the  assertions  of  Hayward  and  Lewes.  I  am 
glad  that  you  are  evidently  so  interested  in  the  Second  Part. 


518  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

If  I  am  right  in  inferring  from  your  translation  of  the  "  Chorus 
Mysticus  "  that  you  have  already  translated  the  whole  book,  I 
shall  look  forward  to  reading  it  with  the  greatest  interest.  If 
you  will  allow  a  little  criticism  in  a  line  or  two,  I  will  venture  to 
give  it.  Das  Unzulangliche  is  not  precisely  "  the  unattainable  :  " 
the  exact  meaning  is  "the  insufficient,"  or  "the  inadequate." 
For  Gleichniss,  also,  I  prefer  the  word  "  parable."  The  whole 
stanza  is  a  contrast  between  the  life  of  earth  and  the  future 
life  ;  and  the  meaning  of  the  first  four  lines  is,  "all  that  is 
transitory  on  earth  is  a  symbol  or  parable  of  what  exists  in  the 
higher  sphere  ;  what  is  insufficient  there  (on  earth)  for  the 
needs  of  the  soul,  here  is  an  actual  event  (Ereigniss)"  My  own 
first  rough  translation  (which  is  still  to  be  carefully  and  rigidly 
tested)  of  these  lines  runs  thus  :  — 

"  All  that  is  perishable 
Is  as  parable  sent : 
Earth's  insufficiency 
Here  grows  to  Event." 

It  is  impossible  to  retain  the  measure  and  all  the  rhymes  : 
this,  however,  is  the  only  instance  in  the  whole  work  where  I 
have  not  done  so. 

However,  I  only  meant  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness,  not 
to  start  questions  of  interpretation.  When  I  go  to  New  York 
next  winter,  for  a  month  or  two,  I  shall  be  glad  to  talk  over 
the  Second  Part  with  you. 

R.    H.   CHITTENDEN  TO   BAYARD    TAYLOR. 

BROOKLYN,  August  18,  1869. 

..."  Faust "  has  been  my  hobby  ever  since  I  began  to  under 
stand  it,  and  no  one  among  your  readers  will  welcome  your 
forthcoming  rendering  of  the  Second  Part  more  cordially  than  I. 
I  am  sure  it  will  do  more  to  secure  you  a  permanent  place 
among  the  poet-thinkers  of  our  times  than  all  you  have  pub 
lished. 

This  I  may  say  in  advance,  for  my  friend  Bloede  says  he  has 
heard  you  read  it,  and  I  perceive  from  your  letter  that  you  have 
found  the  Goethean  standpoint.  And  besides,  you  have  what 
Goethe  said  was  an  indispensable  prerequisite  to  comprehen 
sion  of  "  Faust,"  i.  e.,  "  lived  and  looked  about  you." 

With  respect  to  the  "  Mystic  Chorus,"  you  have  the  authority 
of  Meyer  (Meyer,  "  Studien,"  Altona,  1847,  p.  191)  to  support 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  519 

your  rendering  of  unzulangliche,  "  the  insufficient."  Still,  I  am 
disposed  to  believe  that  Faust's  triumph  at  the  close  was  the 
realization  of  his  longing  after  the  unattainable,  which  marks 
his  first  appearance.  I  prefer  "  symbol "  to  "  parable."  Was 
not  Goethe  something  of  a  Swedenborgian  ?  That  is,  did  not 
he  regard  the  finite  as  the  symbol  of  the  infinite,  the  material 
and  transitory  as  the  type  or  counterpart  of  the  spiritual  real 
ity? 

In  my  opinion,  Goethe  in  the  Mystic  Chorus  not  only  meant 
all  you  so  well  express  in  your  letter,  but  much  more. 

Dr.  Bloede  tells  me  you  translate  "  Das  Ewigweibliche " 
"  woman's-soul."  I  have  spent  many  hours  over  those  two  last 
lines,  with  very  unsatisfactory  results,  as  you  have  seen. 

It  is  clear  that  the  poet,  by  the  Eternal  Womanhood  means 
Divine  Love,  —  of  which  the  pure  and  true  woman  is  the  most 
perfect  human  expression,  —  love  that,  cooperating  in  Faust's 
better  nature,  overcame  Mephisto,  and  draweth  his  rescued 
spirit  upward  and  onward  forever  toward  God.  Please  pardon 
me,  for  I  believe  I  am  afflicted  with  Goethemania.  .  .  . 

Your  Dedication  Ode  at  Gettysburg  is  the  best  poem  I  have 
read  in  a  long  time. 

BAYARD   TAYLOR   TO   R.    H.    CHITTENDEN. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  21,  1869. 

I  don't  think  I  stated  that  although  my  translation  is  com 
plete  it  must  still  receive  one  final  and  thorough  revision.  I 
have  used  the  word  "  parable  "  because  it  seems  to  me  to  present 
Goethe's  meaning  more  clearly  to  the  English  mind  ;  but  I  may 
still  change  it,  and  many  other  of  the  more  important  lines. 
Dr.  Bloede  did  not  correctly  give  you  my  translation  of  the 
"  Ewigweibliche."  My  lines  are  :  — 

"  The  Woman- Soul  leadeth  us 
Upward  and  on," 

which  is  a  very  different  thing  from  "  Woman's  Soul."  I  am 
aware  that  some  of  the  critics  consider  the  word  as  typical  of 
the  Divine  Love,  —  but  I  only  look  upon  that  as  a  secondary 
meaning,  and  find  a  connection  between  it  and  the  line  :  — 

"  Wenn  er  dich  ahnet  folgt  er  nach." 

Goethe  was  ethico-philosophical,  never  theological.  He  meant 
(I  think)  primarily  to  say  that  the  Woman-element  attracts  and 


520  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

elevates  the  Man-element,  here  and  hereafter  ;  that  love  is  an 
eternal,  purifying,  and  redeeming  force.  This  reading  harmon 
izes  with  the  introduction  of  Gretchen,  and  the  line  I  have 
quoted.  Of  course  it  will  also  bear  the  other  interpretation,  in 
addition,  and  won't  break  under  the  strain.  For  my  part,  I 
find  the  best  explanation  of  "  Faust "  not  in  the  critics,  but  in 
Goethe's  other  works,  in  Eckermann,  and  in  the  correspondence 
with  Schiller,  Zelter,  and  others.  I  have  made  it  my  first  busi 
ness  to  study  Goethe's  manner  of  thought  and  his  habits  of  com 
position.  The  best  brief  commentary  on  "  Faust "  is  that  re 
cently  published  by  Dr.  Kreysig.  But  I  have  not  time  to  discuss 
these  points,  and  only  meant  to  indicate  my  view  of  the  lines 
you  mention.  I  need  hardly  say  that  all  this  is  confidential  :  I 
do  not  wish  to  have  a  single  word  of  my  work  made  public  until 
after  the  last  revision,  and  I  have  not  yet  consulted  with  Lowell 
and  other  German  scholars  in  regard  to  a  few  points.  I  have 
laid  my  translation  aside  to  rest,  and  shall  not  go  over  it  again 
until  after  the  notes  are  finished,  —  next  spring,  probably.  I 
here  copy  the  Opening  Chorus  of  the  Second  Part. 

You  will  see  that  my  object  —  not  only  here  but  throughout 

—  is  to  reproduce  measure  and  rhyme,  and  also  the  rhythmical 
tone  or  stimmung  of  the  original.     My  only  charge  against  Mr. 
Brooks  is  that  he  neglects  the  latter  quality,  which  is  something 
apart  from  the  mere  scansion.     "  Faust "  in  this  respect  is  su 
perb.     Whether  I  can  do  it  or  not,  others  must  judge.  ...  In 
the  greater  part  of  the  "  Helena  "  the  translation  is  strictly  lit 
eral,  but  every  foot  and  csesural  pause  of  the  choruses  is  retained. 

I  am  cheered  by  your  encouraging  words,  and  am  also  very 
glad  to  get  your  commendation  of  my  Gettysburg  ode. 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 

CEDARCROFT,  Friday,  August  20,  1869. 

.  .  .  Lowell's  notice  was  in  the  "  N.  A.  Review."  What  he 
says  of  your  "  Theocritus  "  is  cheering.  I  gave  you  only  one 
line  as  a  specimen  ;  of  course  the  order  of  dactyls  and  trochees 
can  always  be  varied  in  the  first  four  feet,  and  an  occasional 
spondee  break  the  closing  trochaic  feet.  The  German  hexameters 

—  at  least  those  of  Goethe  and  Gregorovius  —  are  never  monoto 
nous.     The  October  "  Atlantic  "  will  have  a  "  Cedarcroft  Pasto 
ral  "  in  hexameters,  which  I  specially  want  you  to  read.     We 
are  overrun  by  visitors,  or  I  would  write  more. 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  521 

The  open  life  which  Bayard  Taylor  led  at  Cedar- 
eroft  made  it  easy  for  the  general  public  of  magazines 
and  newspapers  to  share  in  the  hospitality  which  he 
gave  so  generously.  He  was  asked  at  this  time  by  a 
friend  who  had  been  his  guest  to  allow  her  to  give  a 
description  of  his  home  and  surroundings  in  a  new 
magazine.  His  reply  to  her  request  is  an  illustration 
of  his  own  reserve  when  writing  of  others :  — 

TO   MISS   LAURA   C.   REDDEN. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  15,  1869. 

In  regard  to  ,  I  know  what  he  wants,  and  it  is  a  want 

which  ought  not  to  be  gratified.  I  have  always  been  opposed  to 
the  reporting  of  an  author's  conversation,  or  personal  habits,  at 
least  during  his  life.  I  have  never  done  it  myself,  and  I  know 
no  author  who  would  not  be  annoyed  by  it.  It  is  the  most  diffi 
cult  thing  in  the  world  to  make  a  fair  report  of  free,  unreserved 
talk.  A  single  sentence,  taken  from  its  context,  and  repeated 
without  the  tone  and  mood  and  manner,  may  convey  a  totally 
false  impression.  For  this  reason  I  earnestly  hope  that  you  will 
repeat  no  "  opinions  "  of  mine,  and  give  no  more  minute  details 
or  incidents  of  my  household  life.  I  have  no  objection  to  your 
describing  my  own  habits  of  study  and  composition,  if  you 
should  wish  to  do  so,  and  if  you  remember  any  of  our  conver 
sations  on  that  point.  Whatever  concerns  me  as  an  author  may 
be  detached  from  my  private  life  as  a  man.  Thus,  you  may 
repeat  any  of  my  views  in  regard  to  the  poet's  vocation  and 
duties,  or  in  regard  to  my  own  continuous  development,  etc.  ; 
my  ideas  of  what  poetry  is,  and  how  severe  an  art,  etc.,  etc.  I 
think  you  will  understand  me  without  further  explanation.  If 

you  choose,  I  will  myself  write  to ,  and  tell  him  the  same 

thing. 

The  Stoddards  left  last  Saturday,  and  I  have  now  recom 
menced  work  in  the  quiet  house.  My  novel  will  now  advance 
more  rapidly.  The  new  pond  is  beginning  to  fill  up,  and  we  re 
joice  over  this  additional  beauty  of  the  place.  We  have  a  su 
perb  vintage,  and  to-morrow  the  gardeners  will  make  a  barrel  of 
wine. 

Alas   for  his  fine   hopes !     The  demon  of   neces- 


522  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

sity  still  pursued  him,  and  late  in  the  fall  he  was 
forced  to  drop  his  home  life  and  work  and  set  out  on 
another  lecturing  tour,  which  he  devoutly  hoped  would 
be  the  last  which  he  would  be  compelled  to  make.  It 
kept  him  engaged  until  the  close  of  the  year,  and  be 
sides  the  familiar  worries,  brought  new  ones  in  the 
shape  of  pestilent  slanders  and  accusations,  which  made 
him  indignant  and  outraged,  even  though  he  was  de 
termined  to  pay  no  attention  to  them.  He  had  now 
been  so  long  a  familiar  personality  in  the  country  that 
a  plentiful  crop  of  stories  about  him  had  come  to  ma 
turity  in  the  journals. 

TO  REV.   H.   N.   POWERS. 

CEDARCROFT,  December  8,   1869. 

Thanks  for  your  note,  which  has  just  arrived.  Whoever  wrote 
the  article  to  which  you  allude  took  the  trouble  to  send  a  copy 
(marked,  of  course)  to  my  wife.  She  threw  it  into  the  fire,  and 
can't  even  remember  the  name  of  the  paper.  Now,  I  should  like 
to  know  the  latter,  because  the  people  who  do  such  things  are 
often  the  very  ones  who  call  upon  you  for  a  favor  a  few  years 
later.  Moreover,  I  saw  in  a  Pittsburgh  paper  the  other  day  the 
announcement  that  "B.  T.  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  H.  are  flaying  each 
other  in  Chicago."  (!)  I  can  only  guess  that  this  must  refer  to 
the  same  thing.  If  so,  here  is  one  result  of  it :  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
(it  should  properly  be  P.  —  for  "  Pharisaic  "  —  instead  of  C.)  of 

,  has  broken  my  engagement  to  lecture  before  it,  on 

account  of  "  the  immoral  tendency "  of  my  lectures  !  I  fully 
share  in  your  disgust  towards  the  miserable  herd  of  persons  in 
this  country,  to  whom  anything  but  commonplace  is  an  intel 
lectual  offense  ;  but  I  have  resolved  never  to  notice  anything  but 
an  actual  assault  on  my  personal  character.  These  persons  may 
have  a  temporary  influence  with  the  crowd,  but  they  can  neither 
make  nor  unmake  an  author's  reputation.  I  am  content  to  try 
to  do  some  genuine  literary  work,  satisfied  with  the  encourage 
ment  of  the  few  who  can  appreciate  it,  and,  unfortunately,  there 
are  only  a  few  among  us  who  value  the  highest  aims. 

Whether  my  lecture  was  sound   or  not,  these  very  attacks 


A    YEAR  AT  CEDARCROFT.  523 

prove  the  necessity  of  something  of  the  kind  being  said.  "  In 
omnibus  caritas,"  says  St.  Augustine,  but  this  is  just  what  we 
don't  have  in  America. 

My  wife  and  mother  heartily  join  in  reciprocating  your  Christ 
mas  wishes,  and  in  returning  a  "  Happy  New  Year  "  to  you  and 
yours. 

TOLEDO,  OHIO,  December  11,  1869. 

I  received  your  very  kind  note  after  the  lecture  last  night  in 
Detroit,  and  this  is  my  first  chance  of  replying.  It  is  three  or 
four  years  since  that  lie  about  Humboldt  has  been  everywhere 
contradicted,  and  any  man  who  uses  it  now  must  be  either  very 
ignorant  or  very  malicious.  It  was  invented  by  Park  Benjamin, 
who  confessed  the  fact  shortly  before  his  death,  when  it  was  im 
mediately  published.  I  had  no  agency  in  the  matter.  All  that 
I  have  ever  said  you  will  find  in  my  "  Familiar  Letter  to  the 
Reader,"  in  my  "  By- Ways  of  Europe,"  published  last  spring. 

Do  not,  pray,  take  any  special  trouble  to  answer  such  a  stale 
slander.  These  attacks  are  simply  a  part  of  that  absence  of 
fairness  and  refined  tolerance  which  at  present  characterizes 
American  society.  I  have  long  since  given  up  the  expectation  of 
any  general  recognition  of  the  best  things  I  do  ;  the  few  hon 
estly  and  broadly  developed  minds,  here  and  there,  will  always 
judge  me  kindly.  The  degree  of  petty  spite  which  every  con 
scientious  thinker  must  encounter  is  sometimes  rather  sadden 
ing,  but  it  is  hardly  worth  one's  indignation. 

Believe  me,  I  appreciate  most  gratefully  the  generous  spirit 
in  which  you  write.  If  there  is  really  anything  forcible  in  the 
article  you  have  seen,  I  would  be  glad  if  you  could  forward  me 
a  copy  to  Kennett  Square.  An  intelligent  hostility  is  not  always 
a  disadvantage.  But  if  it  is  merely  a  coarse,  flippant  assault,  of 
course  I  don't  care  to  see  it. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  TRANSLATION   OF  FAUST. 

1870. 

This  plant,  it  may  be,  grew  from  vigorous  seed, 
Within  the  field  of  study  set  by  song. 

Sonnet. 

AT  the  beginning  of  1870  Bayard  Taylor  removed 
with  his  family  to  New  York  for  a  couple  of  months. 
He  devoted  himself  to  continuous  work  upon  his  novel, 
the  publication  of  which  had  been  begun  in  the  "  At 
lantic  Monthly,"  although  he  had  not  been  able,  in 
spite  of  his  intentions,  to  finish  the  writing.  He 
continued  also  his  monthly  notes  for  "  Putnam's  Maga 
zine."  wrote  reviews  for  the  "  Tribune,"  notably  one 
on  Bryant's  translation  of  the  "  Iliad,"  and  answered 
the  demand  whenever  a  poem  called  for  expression. 
He  made  short  lecture  trips,  but  his  experience  in  this 
grew  more  and  more  discouraging.  He  had  not  the 
exuberant  vitality  with  which  he  was  once  wont  to  en 
counter  the  physical  discomforts  of  a  lecturing  life,  but 
he  still  had  the  indomitable  will,  and  the  contempt  for 
sickness,  which  led  him  to  attack  his  work  as  if  he 
were  in  the  best  of  health.  A  wretched  catarrhal 
trouble  afflicted  him,  and  before  he  went  back  to 
Cedarcroft  he  was  overtaken  by  a  cough  which  proved 
to  be  whooping-cough.  In  the  intervals  of  his  lectur 
ing  he  was  with  his  family,  and  enjoying  as  before  the 
social  life  which  gathered  about  him  whenever  he  was 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  525 

in  the  city.  His  hospitable-  ways  and  his  hearty  inter 
est  in  all  that  concerned  literature  and  art  continually 
brought  others  to  him,  and  made  him  a  welcome  guest 
at  studios  and  dinner-tables.  He  was  able,  also,  while 
working  upon  "  Faust,"  which  had  the  first  place  in 
his  mind,  if  not  the  greater  part  of  his  attention,  to 
avail  himself  of  the  friendly  counsel  of  Mr.  Chitten- 
den,  Dr.  Bloede,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Conant,  and  Mr.  Mac- 
donough.  Since  so  many  of  his  friends  were  within 
call,  he  wrote  few  letters  during  his  stay  in  New  York. 
On  the  9th  of  March  he  returned  with  his  family  to 
Cedarcrof  t,  and  began  at  once  to  prepare  the  six  lec 
tures  on  German  literature  which  he  had  agreed  to 
give  at  Cornell  in  April.  In  a  month  he  had  com 
pleted  them  and  was  again  at  work  on  his  novel.  He 
spent  the  latter  half  of  April  in  Ithaca,  delivering  his 
lectures,  and  giving  what  hours  he  could  snatch  to 
writing  upon  his  novel. 

TO  T.    B.   ALDRICH. 

CEDARCROFT,  KTCNNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  5,  1870. 

M.  reminds  me  that  I  have  not  yet  explained  to  you  why  I 
did  not  call  to  see  you  and  L.  in  New  York  ;  but  the  same  reason 
applies  partly  to  my  not  writing  sooner.  The  simple  fact  is  I 
had  the  whoooping-cough,  and  in  the  most  violent  form  ;  and  I 
did  not  dare  to  go  anywhere  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  babies. 

We  had  arranged  to  leave  on  the  Monday  after  lunching  with 
Launt  Thompson,  but  remained  a  day  longer  on  account  of  my 
having  so  wrenched  one  of  the  pectoral  muscles,  in  one  of  my 
convulsions,  that  I  was  not  able  to  travel. 

M.  would  have  gone  to  see  L.  but  for  the  fear  of  carrying 
some  of  my  atmosphere  in  her  dress,  for  the  ways  of  whooping- 
cough  are  past  finding  out. 

The  journey  home  aggravated  my  case  so  much  that  I  have 
not  ventured  out  of  the  house  until  within  a  week,  and  every 
storm  still  irritates  me. 

I  have  been  obliged  to  postpone  my  lectures  at  the  Cornell 


526  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

University  until  next  month.  But  they  have  been  written  and  I 
am  now  free  from  literary  work.  You  will  find  another  pastoral 
in  the  May  number,  and  I  have,  besides,  several  poems  in  MS. 
I  shall  finish  "  Joseph "  this  month,  and  will  have  nothing  on 
hand  but  "  Faust  "  and  will  undertake  nothing  more  until  that  is 
complete.  I  work  hard,  but  am  happier  in  working  than  ever  be 
fore,  and  you  know  I  always  liked  it. 

TO  JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  12,  1870. 
You  must  not  measure  my  satisfaction  at  receiving  your  letter 
with  the  time  I  have  taken  to  answer  it  —  but  yes,  you  may,  for 
both  are  much !  The  fact  is  this  :  I  have  had  six  lectures  on 
German  literature  to  prepare  for  Cornell  University,  and  the 
time  was  so  short  (I  begin  to  lecture  next  week)  that  I,  perforce, 
postponed  everything  else  until  the  work  was  done.  Yesterday 
I  finished  it,  and  to-day  I  turn  to  you,  not  with  the  sense  of  per 
forming  a  neglected  duty,  but  rather  with  the  delight  which  we 
always  have  in  holidays  of  the  mind.  The  lectures  were  some 
what  of  a  task,  because  my  whooping-cough  became  much  worse 
after  leaving  New  York  and  robbed  me  of  ten  days'  work.  The 
next  thing  on  hand  is  to  finish  the  novel  of  "Joseph  and  his 
Friend,"  which  I  hope  to  accomplish  by  May  1st,  and  then  there 
will  be  nothing  left  for  me  but  —  "  Faust !  "  I  have  sketches  for 
other  things,  but  I  like  to  look  at  a  blank  canvas  (as  I  '11  bet  you 
do)  and  lay  out  in  fancy  what  I  shall  put  on  it.  I  find  that  my 
severest  and  most  serious  labor  does  me  most  good,  so  I  look  for 
ward  to  a  time  when  the  best  things  may  be  accomplished  with 
tolerable  ease.  There  is  not  such  a  great  difference  between  the 
mental  processes  of  the  painter  and  the  author  —  chiefly  that 
which  springs  from  the  vehicles  whereby  they  work.  We  have, 
at  last,  exquisite  weather.  I  have  a  bed  of  hyacinths  in  blossom 
on  the  terrace,  and  the  pear  and  peach  buds  are  just  bursting 
out.  Our  grass  is  quite  green,  and  the  new  pond  at  the  bottom 
of  the  lawn  shines  like  steel.  The  place  never  seemed  so  lovely 
to  me  as  this  spring.  Everything  is  coming  on  finely.  We  have 
had  lettuce  and  radishes  for  a  month  past,  and  to-day  have  our 
first  "  cukes."  Rhubarb  will  be  fit  for  pies  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
tomatoes  are  six  inches  high.  We  have  plucked  almost  two  dozen 
oranges  from  our  trees,  besides  lemons  which  make  me  think  of 
Sorrento.  I  have  just  had  a  present  (from  Kansas)  of  an  enor- 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  527 

mous  buffalo  head,  cured,  stuffed,  and  mounted  on  a  shield,  as 
fierce  as  life  itself.  It  is  to  go  opposite  Stedman's  Adirondack 
stag,  in  our  dining-room. 

My  stay  at  Ithaca  will  be  two  weeks,  and  after  I  return  we 
shall  probably  leave  immediately  for  California,  not  to  be  back 
again  until  the  middle  of  July.  Then,  I  hope  to  rest  awhile  :  we 
want  to  see  you  two  here  in  the  fruit  season.  There  is  a  great 
promise  of  everything  this  year.  The  gardener  and  I  are  going 
in  for  making  money,  at  last,  and  we  have  good  prospects  of 
success.  Literature  is  down,  just  as  much  as  Art.  No  books 

sell  now  except  such  wishy-washy  things  as and .     We 

are  just  now  feeling  the  inevitable  demoralization  of  the  war.  I 
don't  look  for  much  improvement  before  two,  three,  —  possibly 
five  years.  We  must  first  get  down  to  gold,  and  then  over  the 
depression  in  values  which  has  already  commenced,  and  into  the 
new  prosperity  that  is  surely  coming,  before  there  can  be  much 
change.  I  get  next  to  nothing  from  my  books  now,  and  it  is  so 
with  all  but  the  sensational  authors.  Even  Hawthorne's  works 
no  longer  sell.  So  the  artists  are  not  alone  in  their  misery. 
Don't  you  know  that  what  we  produce  is  a  luxury,  and  is  always 
given  up  sooner  than  India  shawls,  jewelry,  suppers,  and  fast 
horses  ?  America  is  still  in  the  prosaic  vulgar  stage,  and  we  all 
are  born  fifty  years  too  soon  for  our  comfort.  Our  wealth  is  gen 
erally  in  mean  or  ignorant  hands,  and  therefore  can't  go  where 
it  should.  But,  bless  me  !  this  is  not  a  leader  I  am  writing ! 
Hold  up,  Pegasus  !  why  should  I  think  of  anything  but  this 
glorious  spring  sunshine  ?  I  won't,  except  to  remember  the  few 
friends  who  make  life  worth  living,  whether  books  sell  or  not. 

The  unremunerative  work  on  "  Faust,"  together  with 
the  cost  of  running  the  estate  at  Cedarcroft,  had  so 
drained  his  supply  of  money  that  he  needed  to  replen 
ish  it  by  some  special  effort.  The  returns  from  pub 
lishers  were  insignificant,  the  last  lecture  season  had 
been  more  of  a  loss  than  a  gain,  and  he  planned  as  a 
means  of  relief  a  trip  to  California.  He  hoped  to  re 
peat  something  of  the  experience  which  he  had  enjoyed 
when  lecturing  there  eleven  years  before.  Then,  in 
the  first  flush  of  Californian  prosperity,  he  had  made 

VOL.   II.  8 


528  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

a  successful  tour,  though  at  the  time  it  was  less  re 
munerative  than  he  had  hoped.  Now,  he  received 
invitations  which  gave  him  confidence  that  he  could 
win  so  good  a  return  as  to  enable  him  to  make  an  end 
of  lecturing  altogether.  At  first  he  designed  taking 
his  wife  and  daughter  with  him,  but  the  rumors  of  In 
dian  difficulties  determined  him  to  go  alone.  He  went, 
expecting  to  be  absent  for  two  months,  but  returned 
in  a  month,  utterly  discouraged.  He  not  only  did  not 
make  a  fortune,  but  actually  came  back  poorer  than 
he  started. 

TO  JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  6,  1870. 
I  have  just  received  your  note,  with  check,  and  thank  you 
heartily.  Now  it  is  really  too  bad,  if  you  meant  to  visit  us  this 
spring,  —  I  mean  too  bad  that  we  are  going  away,  —  for  we  have 
been  expecting  your  visit  so  long  and  vainly  that  we  had  almost 
come  to  regard  it  as  one  of  the  unattainable  pleasures.  The 
facts  are  simply  these  :  I  have  been  completely  overhauling  my 
pecuniary  interests  this  spring,  and  reorganizing  on  a  more  con 
venient  basis.  A  certain  number  of  shekels  is  necessary  to  make 
the  new  truck  run  without  friction,  and  an  invitation  of  the 
Mercantile  Library  Society  of.  San  Francisco,  with  the  additional 
prospect  of  giving  twenty-five  more  lectures  in  the  smaller  towns, 
offers  me  the  means  of  doing  all  I  wish  by  July  1st,  and  then 
having  the  field  clear  for  "  Faust."  My  wife  will  go  with  me, 
and  we  start  next  Wednesday.  And  if  you  will  come  in  July,  or 
August,  or  September,  or  October,  —  while  we  have  leaves  in  the 
forest  and  fruit  hi  the  orchard,  it  will  be  another  promise  of  the 
summer.  When  I  think  that  seven  weeks'  work,  and  the  final 
and  complete  winding-up  of  my  lecture-business  will  give  me 
ease  and  leisure,  how  can  I  resist  ? 

CEDARCROFT,  June  25,  1870. 

I  reached  home  four  days  ago,  after  a  trip  of  seven  days  from 
San  Francisco.  A  note  from  Howells  to  my  wife  relieves  me  of 
doubt  about  the  MS.  He  has  all  but  the  last  two  or  three 
chapters,  which  I  shall  write  at  once  and  forward. 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  529 

My  parents  are  going  to  Switzerland  for  a  year,  and  will  sail 
on  the  12th  of  July.  I  should  like  to  run  on  to  Boston  for  a 
day  or  two,  then,  and  possibly  may  do  so.  We  are  so  unsettled 
by  the  preparations,  and  various  other  family  matters,  that  we 
should  prefer  to  have  you  come  to  us  in  September,  when  the 
weather  is  most  perfect,  the  fruit  most  plentiful,  and  when  (this 
season)  we  shall  have  quiet  and  leisure  for  you  and  ourselves. 
Pray  so  arrange  your  summer  plan  as  to  include  this  excursion. 

I  am  provoked  that  my  trip  to  California  (a  most  useless  jour 
ney,  as  it  has  proved)  interfered  with  your  plan  of  coming  this 
spring.  I  expected  to  earn  a  certain  sum  by  my  lectures  there 
(the  representations  made  to  me  being  very  flattering),  and  then 
to  be  able  to  rearrange  my  time  and  labor  comfortably,  since  I 
shall  lecture  no  more.  But  I  have  been  hideously  deceived  ;  the 
population  in  California  is  the  deadest  I  ever  saw.  Nobody,  now, 
seems  to  read  a  book,  or  go  to  a  lecture,  except  a  small  class  in 
San  Francisco. 

The  consequence  is,  I  lost  instead  of  earning  money,  and  come 
back,  ready  to  undertake  some  sort  of  drudgery,  for  lecture  I 
will  not. 

The  end  of  Dickens  haunts  me  like  a  warning  ;  there  were 
twenty  years  more  of  life  in  him,  had  he  not  worn  out  his  vitality. 
It  was  not  the  writings,  but  the  readings,  which  killed  him.  I 
should  rather  have  never  heard  him  read,  if  we  could  have  had 
the  man  twenty  years  longer. 

Cordial  greetings  to  A.  W.,  and  salute  all  friends  from  me. 

Bayard  Taylor  estimated  that  his  lecturing  since 
the  beginning  of  the  year  had  cost  him  five  hundred 
dollars.  The  explanation  of  his  failure,  where  before 
he  had  repeatedly  made  a  success,  is  to  be  found  not 
in  any  change  in  his  matter  or  manner,  but  simply  in 
the  change  which  had  come  over  the  country.  When 
he  entered  upon  lecturing,  the  nation  was  in  a  state 
of  political  ferment  which  had  a  strong  influence  upon 
intellectual  life  everywhere.  The  political  habits  of 
the  people  had  made  public  assemblies  a  common  inci 
dent.  The  religious  habits  had  made  the  pulpit  to  be 
a  power.  A  third  force  had  arisen  out  of  these  two 


530  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

in  the  lecture  system.  The  platform  had  become  the 
vantage-ground  from  which  apostles,  who  were  either 
excluded  from  the  pulpit,  or  wished  for  a  freer  condi 
tion  of  address,  stirred  the  people  with  their  reforma 
tory  doctrines  in  every  department  of  morals  and  so 
cial  philosophy.  No  apparatus  was  needed  beyond  a 
gathering  place,  which  the  town-hall  or  meeting-house 
supplied,  a  lecturer,  and  his  audience.  There  was  lit 
tle  range  of  entertainment  either  in  towns,  or  in  cities, 
and  for  several  years  the  Lecture  was  the  most  avail 
able  form  of  entertainment  and  instruction. 

Now,  all  was  changed.  The  war  had  intervened, 
with  its  rough  overturning  of  old  social  ranks.  Money 
and  leisure  were  in  the  power  of  people  who  had  little 
intellectual  training,  and  small  taste  for  such  plain 
entertainment  as  a  lecture  would  afford.  The  sensa 
tional  element  in  literature,  the  drama  and  all  forms 
of  art,  had  for  a  while  almost  undisputed  sway.  The 
growth  and  prosperity  of  the  newspaper  press  had 
given,  besides,  a  means  of  becoming  familiar  with  the 
world  which  was  open  to  the  inhabitant  of  the  most 
distant  village.  All  these  causes  tended  to  depress 
the  old-fashioned  lyceum.  Lecture  courses  were  made 
palatable  by  the  introduction  of  musical  and  dra 
matic  entertainments,  and  even  a  well-earned  reputa 
tion  stood  the  lecturer  in  poor  stead  for  the  power  of 
saying  something  exceptionally  "  smart,"  startling,  or 
witty.  The  trip  to  California  was  a  rude  awakening 
to  Bayard  Taylor,  but  he  saw  the  drift  of  public  taste, 
and  he  could  only  accept  the  situation  and  wait  for  a 
return  to  healthier  conditions. 

After  his  return  to  Cedarcroft  he  was  busy  with 
preparations  for  the  departure  of  his  father  and 
mother,  who  were  going  to  Switzerland  to  spend  a  year 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.          531 

with  a  married  daughter.  When  they  had  left  New 
York,  Bayard  Taylor  and  his  wife  made  an  excur 
sion  to  Boston  and  neighborhood,  and  then  returned 
to  Cedarcroft,  where  he  devoted  himself  assiduously  to 
work  on  "  Faust."  His  work  consisted  in  completing 
a  thorough  revision  for  the  press,  and  in  the  prepa 
ration  of  the  voluminous  notes  which  he  designed  to 
accompany  the  work.  Part  I.  was  to  be  published 
before  the  end  of  the  year,  and  Part  II.  early  in  the 
year  following. 

It  was  the  summer  of  the  Franco-German  war,  and 
Bayard  Taylor  with  his  intimate  knowledge  of  mod 
ern  Europe  took  the  strongest  possible  interest  in 
affairs.  His  work  on  "  Faust "  was  not  ill-timed,  when 
Goethe's  country  was  disclosing  so  dramatically  its  al 
most  unrecognized  power.  In  the  midst  of  his  work, 
he  was  called  upon  by  the  "  Tribune  "  to  furnish  an 
elaborate  article  upon  Louis  Napoleon's  career,  to 
be  used  in  the  event  of  the  emperor's  abdication,  and 
though  remote  from  important  sources  of  information, 
he  gave  himself  to  the  task  with  his  customary  energy, 
and  in  half  a  week  had  written  enough  to  cover  a  page 
of  the  "  Tribune.  When  the  news  came  of  the  surren 
der  of  MacMahon's  army,  Bayard  Taylor  was  so  stirred 
that  he  wrote  at  once  a  German  "  Jubellied  eines  Amer- 
ikaners,"  which  was  taken  up  with  enthusiasm  by  the 
Germans  in  America,  set  to  music  several  times,  and 
translated  into  English  by  some  one  ignorant  of  its 
origin.  He  furnished  for  the  "  Tribune,"  also,  a  met 
rical  translation  of  the  "  Wacht  am  Khein." 

Meanwhile  with  all  these  interruptions  he  com 
pleted  "  Joseph  and  his  Friend,"  wrote  the  remainder 
of  his  "  Pastorals,"  and  kept  assiduously  at  work 
throughout  the  autumn  upon  his  "  Faust  "  and  Notes. 


532  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

As  soon  as  proofs  began  to  come,  his  labor  was  not 
lessened,  but  it  took  on  a  hopeful  character. 

TO   JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  18, 1870. 

I  am  still  waiting  for  the  first  proofs  as  the  signal  to  send  on  a 
big  batch  of  MS.  But  nothing  comes.  The  delay  in  the  print 
ing-office  must  terminate  soon,  or  the  publication  will  have  to  be 
postponed.  I  am  sure  of  doing  my  part,  and  will  meet  the  prin 
ter's  requirements. 

I  have  laid  aside  the  "  Faust "  for  a  few  days  in  order  to  write 
the  last  two  chapters  of  "  Joseph."  I  have  also  written  part  of 
a  "  November  Pastoral,"  meant  as  the  concluding  number  of  the 
Trilogy,  which  I  want  to  finish  while  the  material  is  fresh  and 
urgent  for  expression.  Do  you  feel  inclined  to  publish  a  third 
(and  final)  installment  ?  Having  occasion  to  write  to  Howells 
about  "  Joseph "  this  morning,  I  mentioned  the  "  Pastoral "  to 
him.  I  know  you  both  liked  the  other  two,  as  individuals,  but  I 
have  no  means  of  knowing  whether  they  attracted  sufficient  no 
tice  from  the  reading  public  to  make  a  third  profitable  to  the 
magazine.  Please  let  me  know  your  candid  view  of  the  matter. 
The  poem  will  probably  be  finished  (having  now  begun,  I  cannot 
stop)  before  your  answer  reaches  me. 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  Thursday  morning,  August  18,  1870. 
Your  letter  of  yesterday  has  just  arrived,  but  not  yet  the 
« Paris  in  1851."  I  suppose  the  latter  is  Tenet's  book.  The 
article  in  the  "  North  American  "  was  not  of  much  service  ;  I 
found  three  in  "  Westminster  "  for  '59,  '60,  and  '61,  which  were 
better.  In  an  article  of  five  or  six  columns  I  could  not  give 
much  prominence  to  any  particular  event,  and  describe  motives 
and  results  also.  I  have  therefore  attempted  a  comprehensive 
sketch  of  the  whole  life.  Pray  read  it  if  you  have  time,  then 
send  me  the  proofs,  and  at  the  same  time  any  suggestions  of 
change  which  you  may  wish  to  have  made  ;  for  instance,  of  more 
prominence  to  certain  portions,  and  less  to  others.  I  will  then 
do  what  further  may  be  necessary,  and  in  the  mean  time  you  will 
have  the  article  as  it  now  is  in  case  of  sudden  need.  This  is 
better  for  you  than  if  I  had  retained  it  here.  I  have  done  my 
best  for  the  time  allowed  me. 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  533 

I  can,  of  course,  review  the  new  book  at  once,  within  a  day 
after  it  comes.  But  it  will  not  do  to  suspend  the  MS.  of  "  Faust " 
any  longer,  as  the  printers  have  commenced  work  on  it.  By  the 
10th  of  September  I  shall  be  at  liberty  again.  It  is  not  merely 
the  time,  you  understand,  but  also  the  entire  rupture  of  trains 
of  thought,  not  all  of  which  can  be  easily  taken  up  again.  I 
want  to  finish  the  other  reviews  this  week,  and  have  a  clear  field 
for  "  Faust "  at  last. 

TO  JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  1, 1870. 

A  thousand  thanks  for  your  promptness  in  sending  me  the 
check.  I  inclose  the  receipt  you  desire.  The  Preface  and  Ger 
man  Proem  herewith  sent  are  not  yet  for  the  printer.  I  want 
your  opinion  about  my  references  to  Brooks,  Hayward,  and 
Lewes.  You  know  the  former,  and  can  judge  whether  the  gen 
tle  criticism  would  disturb.  I  meant  to  be  friendly  and  appre 
ciative,  while  sincere. 

Then  I  should  be  ver.y  glad  if  both  Longfellow  and  Lowell  will 
take  the  trouble  to  run  over  the  MS.  and  note  down  any  excep 
tions  they  may  take  to  what  is  said,  or  any  hints  of  anything 
which  might  fittingly  be  added.  Here,  as  you  know,  there  is  no 
one  with  whom  I  can  consult,  and  it  is  not  always  good  to  be 
alone. 

It  is  eleven  days  since  I  received  and  returned  the  first  proof, 
and  I  have  sent  about  seventy  pages  of  text  and  twenty-five  of 
notes,  and  have  about  as  much  on  hand  ready  to  send.  I  have 
written  to  Welch,  Bigelow  &  Co.  two  or  three  times,  asking  them 
to  let  me  know  at  what  rate  they  would  want  the  copy  furnished, 
etc.,  but  have  received  no  word  of  reply.  I  cannot  account  for  the 
delay,  and  want  you  to  understand  that  I  am  in  no  way  respon 
sible  for  it.  I  have  worked  in  the  sweat  of  my  brow  for  a  month 
past,  by  day  and  night,  to  fulfill  my  promise  ;  and  now,  if  any 
delay  has  been  contemplated,  I  should  like  to  know  at  once. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  8,  1870. 
The  silhouettes 1  came  last  night.     I  agree  with  you  that  it 
would  be  an  advantage  to  have  the  explanatory  passages  from  my 

1  Roberts  Brothers  were  about  to  publish  Konewka's  silhouettes  illustra 
tive  of  Faust,  and  an  arrangement  had  been  made  by  which  the  text  -was 
taken  from  the  forthcoming  translation. 


534  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

translation.  They  will  be  the  most  ordinary  specimens,  of  course, 
—  as  the  artist  takes  actions,  not  thoughts,  and  his  selection  is 
not  especially  good,  —  but  that  will  probably  make  no  difference 
with  the  public. 

I  have  also  heard  from  Welch,  Bigelow  &  Co.  I  return  the 
proofs  by  the  next  mail  in  every  case,  —  sometimes  in  two  hours' 
time,  and  they  have  MS.  far  ahead ;  so  no  delay  can  be  fairly 
attributed  to  me. 

It  was  just  upon  that  point  where  I  wished  counsel.  You  and 
Longfellow  are  probably  right.  I  must,  however,  take  sides 
against  a  prose  translation,  and  Hay  ward  will  be  implied,  whether 
he  is  mentioned  or  not.  It  seemed  to  me,  therefore,  fairer  to 
come  out  squarely  with  his  name.  I  was  doubtful  about  the  ref 
erence  to  Brooks,  and  in  this  case  a  doubt  ought  to  be  equal  to  a 
decision.  Nevertheless,  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  will  send  the 
MS.  to  Lowell  before  returning  it  to  me.  I  should  like  to  have 
Longfellow's  and  his  opinion  of  the  Proem. 

My  "  Jubellied  "  in  Tuesday's  "  Tribune  "  is  copied  into  all 
the  German  -  American  papers,  and  is  another  bit  of  grist  in 
Faust's  mill. 

The  "  Notes  "  turn  out  satisfactorily.  I  know  they  are  more 
complete  than  have  yet  been  given,  for  I  have  many  things  which 
have  escaped  even  the  German  commentators. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  22, 1870. 

I  have  finished  the  text  of  "  Faust "  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  notes,  and  do  not  send  all  the  MS.  now,  because  the  printing 
is  so  far  behind  the  copy  in  Welch,  Bigelow  &  Co.'s  hands.  They 
promised  me  fifty  pages  per  week,  but  I  only  received  thirty 
pages  ten  days  ago,  and  since  then  only  four  pages  of  the  Notes. 
I  always  return  the  proofs  by  the  next  mail. 

I  wrote  to  you  in  August  that  we  were  ready  for  you  whenever 
you  could  come  this  way.  Now  don't  simply  say  that  you  wish 
you  could  be  with  us,  but  pack  your  trunk  and  take  your  railroad 
tickets  !  The  weather  is  simply  heavenly  here,  and  there  is  not 
yet  a  touch  of  autumn  on  the  woods.  Do  take  a  holiday  next 
week  and  come  on.  We  only  need  notice  enough  in  advance  to 
enable  us  to  meet  you  at  the  station,  which  is  one  mile  from  Ce- 
darcroft.  My  wife  joins  me  most  heartily  for  the  eleventh  (or 
twenty-seventh)  time  in  repeating  the  persuasion.  If  you  could 
only  persuade  Whittier  to  come  along  ! 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  535 

How  good  Dr.  Hedge's  article  is  !  His  translation  of  Goethe's 
"  Coptic  Song  "  is  perfect ;  if  he  had  undertaken  "  Faust,"  my 
work  would  have  been  unnecessary. 

Please  send  me  the  MS.  of  Preface  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I 
intend  rewriting  it ;  or,  best  of  all,  bring  it  with  you. 

TO  T.   B.   ALDRICH. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  5,  1870. 

I  have  just  expressed  to  you  a  small  box  containing  six  figs 
from  my  trees,  and  two  pawpaws,  which  grow  wild  in  our  Penn 
sylvania  woods.  As  the  figs  only  ripen  a  few  at  a  time,  and  will 
not  keep  well  on  account  of  their  lush  nature,  I  can  only  dispatch 
a  few,  but  I  hope  they  will  recall  an  old  flavor  to  your  palate. 
My  trees  are  still  young,  and  I  shall  not  have  more  than  a  peck 
this  year  ;  but  the  quality  is  good.  There  will  be  three  pome 
granates  in  a  fortnight  more. 

I  have  been  working  day  and  night  on  "  Faust "  since  I  saw 
you,  and  now  that  the  work  is  just  about  finished,  I  shall  feel 
thoroughly  worn  out,  exhausted,  used  up,  collapsed,  effete,  intel 
lectually  impotent.  I  only  hope  there  will  be  some  little  recog 
nition  of  my  labors  in  the  end. 

The  coming  of  autumn  and  of  cooler  weather  brought 
little  relief  to  Bayard  Taylor.  He  had  toiled  inces 
santly  through  the  hot  weather.  He  had  been  com 
pelled  to  give  his  energy  and  time  to  a  literary  work 
which  could  not,  even  in  the  future,  be  very  remunera 
tive,  withdrawing  himself  thus  from  labor  which  would 
at  least  have  made  the  wheels  run  easily.  He  had 
been  shut  out  from  congenial  society,  and  had  suffered 
from  wearisome  interruptions  incident  to  his  country 
life.  The  near  approach,  also,  to  the  end  of  his  great 
task  made  him  hunger  for  association  with  people  who 
cared  for  what  most  interested  him,  and  he  was  con 
scious  of  growing  power  which  he  longed  to  expend  on 
great  work,  —  work  of  a  kind  which  could  be  done 
only  if  he  were  free  from  the  unending  perplexities  of 
his  situation.  He  burst  forth  in  a  letter  to  his  mother 


536  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

with  expressions  of  dissatisfaction  which  are  not  those 
of  a  querulous  man,  but  of  one  who  turns  with  rage 
upon  his  broken  ideals. 

TO  HIS   MOTHER. 

CEDARCROFT,  October  6, 1870. 

...  I  am  very  tired  of  working  so  hard  to  keep  up  a  place 
which  gives  me  no  return.  My  last  trip  to  Europe  (which  I  be 
lieve  saved  my  life)  cost  me,  as  you  know,  five  thousand  dollars 
to  keep  the  place  going  during  my  absence.  This,  and  the  pur 
chase  of  McFarland's  land,  without  being  able  to  sell  mine,  have 
so  burdened  me  that  all  the  many  losses  of  this  year  come  very 
hard  upon  me,  and  my  health  suifers  from  the  worry  and  the  ex 
tra  work  I  must  do.  We  three  can  easily  economize,  but  I  must 
either  let  the  place  run  down,  or  pay  and  feed  six  men  besides. 
Ever  since  the  house  was  built  there  have  been  but  two  years 
(1865  and  1866)  when  I  was  tolerably  free  from  care.  If  I  had 
known,  in  1859,  how  prices  were  to  change,  and  labor  to  be  dear 
and  unreliable,  and  the  neighborhood  to  go  backwards  instead  of 
forwards,  I  never  should  have  built  at  all.  What  was  compara 
tively  easy  then  is  very  difficult  now.  My  pleasure  in  the  place 
as  a  home  is  spoiled  by  all  this  drain  upon  me,  and  hard  as  it 
will  be  I  must  leave  for  my  own  sake,  unless  there  is  a  turn  of 
good  luck  very  soon.  ...  It  is  wrong  to  live  in  this  way  and 
waste  the  prime  of  life,  or  sacrifice  it  to  a  sentiment,  for  I  am 
doing  the  latter.  However,  I  shall  wait  until  next  spring,  and  if 
there  is  no  improvement  by  that  time  I  shall  do  what  I  ought  to 
have  done  four  years  ago.  Few  men  of  my  age  have  gone 
through  so  much  or  done  harder  work  ;  and  it  is  time  that  this 
continual  wear  and  tear  must  come  to  an  end. 

TO   J.    B.    PHILLIPS. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  26, 1870 
I  have  been  so  busy  finishing  the  last  copy  for  "  Faust  "  that  I 
have  delayed  answering  your  last.  Now  everything  has  gone  to 
the  printer,  —  text,  notes,  title-page,  preface,  and  appendices, — 
and  I  am  free  from  the  mental  strain  of  three  months  past.  The 
Notes  are  a  very  important  feature,  for  they  are  unlike  anything 
that  has  yet  been  done  in  former  translations.  I  have  given  the 
essence  of  fifty  volumes  of  criticism,  besides  many  things  of  my 
own. 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  537 

I  am  delighted  with  the  way  in  which  my  "  Spirits'  Chant " 
impresses  you.  If  that  is  so  successful,  the  rest  is  sure  !  It  was 
a  tremendous  job,  I  assure  you  ;  I  wrote  it  three  times,  with  in 
tervals  of  a  year  or  two  between,  coming  a  little  nearer  each 
time.  I  don't  say  it  can't  be  done  better,  but  I  do  defy  any 
human  being  to  retain  the  exact  rhythm  and  order  of  rhyme,  and 
at  the  same  time  come  nearer  the  meaning  of  the  original.  I  took 
Roget's  "  Thesaurus  "  for  nearly  every  word,  and  ran  through 
all  the  synonyms  for  it  in  the  language.  I  wish  I  could  send  you 
the  "  Archangels'  Chorus,"  but  I  have  only  one  copy  of  the  proof 
of  that.  The  "  Easter  Choruses,"  I  think,  are  fully  as  well  done. 
I  have  kept  the  five  dactylic  rhymes  in  the  last,  which  no  transla 
tor  ever  attempted  before.  Yet,  after  all,  the  translation  was 
not  more  laborious  than  the  preparation  of  the  Notes,  as  you  will 
understand  when  you  come  to  see  the  latter.  .  .  . 

CEDAECKOFT,  October  31,  1870. 

I  can  at  last  send  you  another  specimen,  Margaret's  prayer 
to  the  Virgin,  "  Ach,  neigS,"  etc.  This  is  another  very  difficult 
passage,  on  account  of  the  passionate  intensity  of  appeal  in  the 
original.  Don't  let  it  go  out  of  your  hands  until  the  book  ap 
pears. 

I  should  like  to  send  you  my  proem,  "  An  Goethe,"  but  have 
dispatched  my  only  copy  to  Germany.  Now  the  work  is  all 
done,  I  breathe  freely  again.  I  am  satisfied  that  little,  if  any 
thing,  has  been  neglected,  and  nothing  slighted.  The  labor  has 
been  an  immense  advantage  in  the  way  of  drill  ;  it  has  forced  my 
mind  into  new  directions,  and  will  surely  give  a  different  charac 
ter  to  my  future  work.  I  have  many  plans  on  hand,  and  several 
years  would  not  suffice  for  their  fulfillment.  Do  you  ever  see 
the  "  Atlantic  "  ?  I  have  a  novel  in  it  this  year  —  decidedly  my 
best  —  which  is  now  nearly  finished.  Also  there  have  been  three 
Pastorals, —  May,  August,  and  November,  —  descriptive  of  life 
here,  which  may  interest  you,  if  you  can  stand  hexameter.  I  am 
hard  at  work  all  the  time,  but  my  brain  seems  to  fill  on  one  side 
as  fast  as  I  empty  it  on  the  other.  However,  literary  labor  is  my 
true  place,  my  all-absorbing  interest,  my  happiness  !  I  am  only 
just  now  beginning  to  do  genuine  work  :  the  past  has  been  but  an 
apprenticeship,  my  Lehrjahre  ;  and  now  comes  (so  God  will) 
the  Meisterschaft.  But  if  not,  no  difference  !  My  life  is  at  least 
filled  and  brightened.  .  .  . 


538  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  JAMES   T.  FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  November  3,  1870. 

...  I  have  changed  the  Preface  in  such  a  way  as,  I  think,  will 
obviate  your  and  Longfellow's  objection.  Lowell  wrote  to  me, 
agreeing  with  my  plan  of  mentioning  Brooks  and  Hayward  by 
name,  and  suggesting  one  or  two  changes,  by  which  the  doubtful 
passages  might  be  made  agreeable.  I  think  all  is  right  now. 
Brooks  will  very  much  prefer  my  reference  to  him  to  being 
wholly  omitted  ;  and  as  for  Hayward  it  does  not  seem  manly  to 
attack  prose  translations  (his  being  the  only  one)  and  not  indi 
cate  whose  views  are  opposed.  I  have,  however,  changed  many 
expressions,  and  balanced  my  objections  by  recognitions.  I  feel 
sure  they  will  stand,  and  that  is  the  main  thing. 

You  can  probably  estimate  by  this  time  the  exact  period  when 
the  volume  can  appear.  If  so,  pray  let  me  know.  What  are  the 
aspects  of  the  business  by  this  time  ?  In  September  they  seemed 
favorable. 

We  have  a  wonderful  fall  here.  Cloudless  skies  ;  no  frost  yet ; 
some  old  oaks  still  green  ;  my  figs  ripening  day  by  day;  and 
only  wood-fires  necessary  on  the  open  hearth,  mornings  and  even 
ings.  Tomatoes,  egg-plants,  and  lettuce  still  flourishing  in  the 
gardens.  Can  you  match  that  about  Boston  ? 

TO   HIS   FATHER  AND   MOTHER. 

CEDARCROFT,  November  8, 1870. 

As  I  have  written  to  A.,  I  ought  to  have  been  less  abrupt 
in  my  letter  [of  October  6th]  ;  but  the  matter  has  been  in  my 
mind  for  a  long  time,  and  it  "  came  to  a  head,"  like  a  slow  boil, 
all  at  once.  You  know  how  things  have  changed  since  the  house 
was  built.  Nobody  then  dreamed  of  the  war  and  its  conse 
quences.  If  I  had  had  the  least  idea  of  what  was  coming,  I 
should  never  have  built.  But  it  is  just  as  well :  we  have  lived 
through  the  difficult  period.  Cedarcroft  has  been  a  central  point 
for  the  family.  We  are  all  settled  in  one  way  or  another,  the 
old  farm  is  sold,  and  you  are  at  least  free  from  trouble  for  the 
rest  of  your  lives.  I  cannot  feel  now  that  any  further  duty  re 
quires  me  to  stay  here,  while  my  interest  calls  upon  me  to  leave. 
You  cannot  understand  all  the  associations  which  I  need  as  an 
author  ;  but  for  the  last  two  or  three  years  I  have  seen  very 
clearly  that  I  am  losing  more  than  I  gain  by  living  here  instead 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  539 

of  in  New  York.  ...  I  thought  that  possibly  my. circumstances 
would  enable  me  to  spend  half  the  year  in  New  York,  and  the 
other  half  here.  But  there  is  no  hope  of  that.  I  can  only  go 
to  New  York  for  two  or  three  months  by  doing  extra  work 
enough  to  pay  for  the  stay  there.  In  order  to  live  without  over 
work,  I  must  decide  either  to  live  here  altogether,  or  there  alto 
gether.  I  like  country  life,  except  in  the  winter  ;  I  like  the 
place,  for  I  have  made  it  what  it  is,  and  I  have  some  few  good 
friends  in  the  neighborhood  ;  but  1  cannot  give  up  my  main  ob 
ject  in  life  for  the  sake  of  a  sentiment,  however  strong.  It  is 
not  the  place  where  I  ought  to  be  now.  You  both  know  how 
very  difficult  it  is  to  get  the  right  persons  in  the  house  or  out 
of  it  ;  how  almost  impossible  it  is  to  arrange  things  so  that  they 
will  go  on  as  well  while  I  am  away  as  when  I  am  here.  An 
other  man  might  perhaps  succeed  ;  I  can't.  ...  I  have  explained 
to  A.  what  a  difference  it  will  make  in  my  income  ;  but  the  chief 
difference  will  be  in  my  peace  of  mind  and  freedom  from  an 
noyance.  I  have  plans  of  more  important  works  than  any  I 
have  yet  written  ;  I  am  just  now  in  the  prime  of  my  powers  ;  I 
need  (more  than  ever  before)  to  have  the  aid  of  libraries  and 
the  most  intelligent  society,  and  I  cannot  afford  to  give  up  all 
for  the  sake  of  a  place,  no  matter  how  I  am  attached  to  it.  It 
has  taken  me  a  long  while  to  come  to  this  decision,  and  it  is  very 
hard  to  make  ;  but  there  is  no  use  in  shutting  one's  eyes  to 
what  is  best  and  right.  If  I  had  done  so  formerly  I  should  never 
have  accomplished  anything.  I  am  at  last  tired,  and  tired  to 
death,  of  this  extra  work  to  make  both  ends  meet.  I  need  com 
plete  rest,  and  I  must  and  will  have  it,  not  merely  the  rest  from 
work,  but  also  the  refreshment  of  intercourse  with  minds  which 
can  assist  and  benefit  me. 

TO  JAMES   T.    FIELDS. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  November  21,  1870. 

I  should  have  written  sooner,  but  I  have  been  working  hard 
on  the  text  of  Part  Second,  in  order  to  get  well  in  advance  of  the 
printers.  My  labors  on  the  First  Part  were  so  severe  and  steady 
that  I  narrowly  escaped  a  fever,  and  some  rest  was  absolutely 
necessary.  Now,  thank  Heaven,  I  feel  as  fresh  as  ever,  and 
the  previous  discipline  will  make  the  remaining  work  lighter. 

Your  note  was  a  great  encouragement,  for  I  had  almost  made 
up  my  mind  for  a  partial .  failure.  There  are  so  few  persona 


540  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

capable  of  judging.  What  research  and  exactness  and  literary 
self-control  is  involved  in  such  an  undertaking  ! 

The  public,  moreover,  are  very  uncertain  just  now,  and  this  is 
one  of  those  cases  where  they  wait  for  some  one  to  take  the  lead 
and  tell  them  whether,  and  what,  to  admire.  I  am  in  the  pre 
dicament  of  a  general  who  must  change  front  in  the  face  of  an 
enemy.  Nine  tenths  of  those  who  read  made  up  their  minds  in 
regard  to  my  capacity  ten  years  ago,  and  they  will  thus  measure 
my  performance  now.  In  other  words,  I  have  given  up  my  old 
audience  and  have  not  yet  obtained  a  new  one. 

I  have  been  expecting,  all  along,  that  "  Faust "  would  bridge 
over  this  gap,  and  you  give  me  fresh  hope  that  it  may.  Never 
theless,  we  have  fallen  upon  (temporary)  evil  days.  There  is 
certainly  less  sound  intelligence  and  less  taste  in  the  country 
than  there  was  ten  years  ago.  The  war  seems  to  have  also 
shaken  up  and  disturbed  the  moral  and  intellectual  elements, 
and  they  have  not  yet  had  time  to  settle  into  their  new  forms. 
I  think  we  have  reached,  perhaps  passed,  the  worst  period,  al 
though  burlesque  and  sensational  trash  seem  as  current  as  ever. 

If  my  "  Faust "  is  what  I  mean  it  to  be,  it  will  have  a  per 
manent  place  in  translated  literature.  No  one  else  is  likely,  very 
soon,  to  undertake  an  equal  labor.  An  immediate  success  will  be 
much  more  important  to  me  than  that  of  any  work  I  have  yet 
published.  You  may  therefore  guess  with  what  interest  I  await 
its  appearance.  I  am  tolerably  good  at  waiting,  but  there  are 
times  when  one  likes  to  make  a  rapid  advance.  Besides,  I  think 
the  aspects  are  good  just  now.  The  German  ascendency  in 
Europe,  Marie  Seebach's  acting  here,  and  various  similar  in 
fluences,  may  all  be  so  many  indirect  helps.  I  beg  you,  there 
fore,  to  take  all  usual  measures  to  set  the  work  fairly  afloat, 
and  catch  up  every  little  side-wind  that  may  be  turned  towards 
its  sails. 

TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

CEDAKCROFT,  November  25,  1870. 

...  I  have  no  expectation  of  selling  the  place  under  a  year, 
and  perhaps  longer.  But  I  mean,  just  as  soon  as  possible,  to 
arrange  my  property  so  that  I  shall  have  the  income  of  all,  and 
be  free  to  carry  out  my  more  important  plans  as  an  author.  I 
want  to  get  rid  of  all  the  little  needs  of  life,  which  I  must  look 
after  here.  I  shall  be  satisfied  to  buy  bread,  vegetables,  fowls, 
eggs,  butter,  water,  gas,  to  hire  my  horses  just  when  I  need 


THE   TRANSLATION   OF  FAUST.  541 

them,  and  to  be  where  we  can  step  out  and  get  our  dinners  if  a 
servant  leaves  us  suddenly.  I  am  tired  of  having  to  do  with 
blacksmiths,  millers,  threshers,  harvest  hands,  hydraulic  rams, 
and  all  the  endless  minor  interests  of  life  in  the  country,  and  I 
don't  take  half  the  same  interest  in  crops  and  fruit  raising  since 
there  is  so  rarely  any  success.  In  short,  my  attempt  to  combine 
farming  and  literature  is  a  dead  failure,  and  I  have  been  carry 
ing  it  on  now  for  several  years  since  I  felt  it  to  be  so,  out  of 
stubborn  unwillingness  to  admit  that  I  was  mistaken.  Now 
since  I  have  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do  I  am  immensely  re 
lieved,  and  am  only  sorry  that  I  happened  to  send  the  crisis  to 
you  in  a  letter.  I  am  sure  that  if  you  look  at  the  matter  from 
my  point  of  view  as  an  author  (and  I  must  be  that  as  long  as  I 
live)  you  will  agree  with  me.  I  value  associations  as  much  as 
you  do,  and  am  almost  the  only  one  of  my  generation  who  has 
proved  it.1  I  have  done  my  best  to  make  my  permanent  home 
here,  but  I  have  failed. 

TO  J.   B.   PHILLIPS. 

KENNETT,  November  28,  1870. 

I  have  been  too  busy  with  the  Second  Part  of  "  Faust "  to  ac 
knowledge  the  receipt  of  your  two  translations.  In  Goethe's  bal 
lad  you  selected  one  of  the  most  difficult  specimens,  where  entire 
success  is  next  to  impossible.  The  original  of  the  other  I  never 
saw,  but  it  seems  to  me  well  translated,  except  here  and  there 
an  unnecessarily  imperfect  rhyme.  I  notice  in  both  what  I  see 
in  all  your  previous  translations,  a  true  feeling  for  the  rhythm 
and  tone  of  the  original,  with  a  disinclination  to  take  trouble 
enough  in  elaborating  all  the  details  of  form.  In  other  words, 
your  design  is  ahead  of  either  your  industry  or  your  technical 
skill  (whichever  it  may  be),  and  you  must  try  to  bring  the 
latter  up  to  a  level  with  the  former.  I  say  "  industry "  pur 
posely,  because  indolence,  in  just  such  features,  is  a  universal 
characteristic  of  the  American  mind,  and  some  of  our  brightest 
thinkers  are  not  free  from  it.  Some  years  ago  I  had  it  also,  and 
I  think  this  Faust-work  has  done  more  than  any  one  thing  to 
help  me  overcome  it.  Really,  we  must  have  a  passion  for  sym 
metry,  harmony,  balance  of  thought  and  expression !  Very 
likely  you  think  I  lay  too  much  stress  on  what  may  seem  minor 

1  He  is  speaking  of  the  circle  of  their  connections  and  acquaintance  in 
Chester  County. 


542  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

things,  but  a  sculptor  who  is  satisfied  if  the  head  is  good  and 
leaves  the  fingers  and  toes  half  modeled  is  a  poor  artist.  If 
you  were  unable  to  avoid  these  little  imperfections,  I  should  say 
nothing,  but  you  are  abundantly  able,  therefore  I  will  admit  no 
excuse. 

By  the  bye,  the  original  MS.  of  the  "  Wacht "  has  just  been 
published  in  Germany,  and  the  title  is  "  Die  Rheinwacht,"  which 
fully  justifies  my  «  Rhine  Guard."  We  say  "  watch  "  in  Eng 
lish  for  a  sentinel,  or  a  small  body  detailed  for  watching  ;  but  a 
whole  people  massed  along  a  frontier  line  can  only  be  called 
a  guard.  .  .  . 

The  First  Part  of  "  Faust,"  including  the  critical 
notes,  was  published  by  Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.,  in  a 
volume  uniform  with  the  quarto  editions  of  Long 
fellow's  "Dante"  and  Bryant's  " Iliad,"  on  Wednes 
day,  December  14,  1870.  In  honor  of  the  publication 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fields  had  invited  the  author  and  his 
wife  to  dinner  on  that  day  to  meet  a  company  of  au 
thors.  Mrs.  Taylor  was  unable  to  leave  Cedarcroft, 
but  Bayard  Taylor  took  a  holiday  and  enjoyed  the  oc 
casion  as  only  he  could  who  had  been  working  by  him 
self  on  a  truly  monumental  task,  and  now  came  out 
into  the  sunshine  of  hearty  recognition  from  his  peers 
and  elders.  A  statue  of  Goethe  stood  in  a  bed  of 
flowers  in  the  centre  of  the  table,  and  the  guests  present 
were  Mr.  Longfellow,  Mr.  Lowell,  Dr.  Holmes,  Mr. 
Howells,  Mr.  Aldrich,  and  Mr.  J.  E.  Osgood.  Mr. 
Emerson  and  Mr.  Whittier  sent  letters  of  regret,  but 
their  letters  were  partial  compensation  for  their  absence. 

B.   W.   EMERSON   TO   JAMES   T.  FIELDS. 

CONCORD,  Monday,  December  12,  1870. 

I  cannot  come  on  Wednesday,  more 's  the  pity  for  me,  for  I  wish 
to  see  Mr.  Taylor  and  congratulate  him  on  a  day  of  such  mark, 
retro-  and  pro-spective.  I  owe  him  also  special  kindnesses,  re 
peated  oft,  —  was  his  guest  in  Pennsylvania,  have  received  good 
books,  and  a  good  drawing  which  I  keep  and  prize,  and  have  read 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  543 

with  great  content  his  travels  in  Mediterranean  Islands,  and 
lately  wondered  whether  Clough  had  risen  again  and  was  pouring 
rich  English  hexameters  until  I  pleased  myself  with  discovering 
the  singer  without  external  hint  of  any  kind,  only  by  the  wide 
travel.  He  has  certainly  acquired  great  mastery  of  his  harp, 
and  I  am  interested  in  the  new  ambition  which  you  told  me  of, 
though  I  am  no  lover  of  "  Faust,"  and  like  everything  of  Goethe's 
better. 

Thanks  for  the  kind  remembrances  of  your  note.  But  I  have 
been  reading  of  Thackeray  with  delight.1  Nothing  can  be  bet 
ter  than  this  admirable  description  which  shows  me,  for  one 
thing,  that  I  never  saw  the  man,  though  I  met  him  twice,  and 
that  he  was  far  better  worth  seeing  than  I  had  guessed. 

J.   G.    WHITTIER   TO  JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 

AMESBURY,  12th  12  mo.,  1870. 

I  very  much  fear  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  be  with  thee  on 
Wednesday  evening.  Still,  as  it  is  barely  possible,  I  shall  not 
give  up  entirely  the  hope  of  it.  Such  opportunities  are  quite  too 
rare  to  be  lost ;  life,  at  the  best,  is  so  short  and  uncertain.  I 
take  up  the  lamentation  of  Falstaff  :  "  There  are  but  few  of  us 
good  fellows  left,  and  one  of  them  is  not  fat  but  lean,  and  grows 
old."  It  would  be  pleasant  to  sit  down  with  thy  special  guest, 
my  dear  friend  Taylor,  and  with  others  whose  poetical  shoe 
strings  I  hold  myself  unworthy  to  untie  :  the  wisest  of  philos 
ophers  and  most  genial  of  men  from.  Concord  ;  the  architect  of 
the  only  noteworthy  "  Cathedral "  in  the  new  world  ;  and  his 
neighbor,  the  far-traveled  explorer  of  Purgatory  and  Hell,  and 
the  scarcely  less  dreary  Paradise  of  the  great  Italian  dreamer. 
I  would  like  to  join  with  them  in  congratulation  of  our  Penn 
sylvania  Friend,  who  introduces  to  English-speaking  people  the 
great  masterpiece  of  Teutonic  literature.  It  seems  to  me  that 
he  is  precisely  the  man  of  all  others  to  do  it.  In  the  first  place, 
though  he  labors  under  the  misfortune  of  not  having  been  born 
in  sight  of  Boston  meeting-house,  he  inherits  from  his  ancestry 
the  Quaker  gift  of  spiritual  appreciation  and  recognition,  the  be 
lief  not  only  in  his  own  revelations,  but  in  those  of  others.  In 
the  second  place,  he  is  a  poet  himself.  Thirdly,  he  has  studied 

1  The  reference  is  to  a  paper  in  the  Atlantic  by  Mr.  Fields  on  Thackeray, 
the  first  of  the  series,  "  Our  Whispering  Gallery." 

VOL.   II.  9 


544  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

man  and  nature  in  all  lands  and  in  all  their  phases,  and  fourthly, 
he  has  brought  himself  into  the  closest  possible  association  with 
the  culture  and  sentiment,  the  intellect  and  the  heart  of  the  Ger 
many  of  Goethe,  by  bringing  under  his  roof-tree  at  Cedarcroft 
an  estimable  countrywoman  of  Charlotte  and  Margaret,  Natalie 
and  Dorothea.  The  best  translation  of  Tasso  is  that  of  the 
Quaker  Wiffin,  and  now  we  have  the  best  of  Goethe  from  the 
Quaker-born  Taylor.  With  something  of  pride,  therefore,  I 
stretch  out  my  congratulatory  hand,  and  thank  him.  God  bless 
him,  or  to  use  the  words  made  sacred  by  the  memory  of  one 
dear  to  us  all,  "  God  bless  us,  every  one  !  " 

Monday.  —  P.  S.  Have  got  thy  note.  Will  come  if  I  can, 
but  it  is  quite  doubtful. 

The  recognition  which  Bayard  Taylor  received  went 
straight  to  his  heart,  for  he  loved  his  work,  he  loved 
poetry  and  all  high  art  with  a  passion  which  made 
recognition  not  a  delicate  perfume  to  be  enjoyed  in  in 
dolent  gratification,  but  a  stimulus  and  encouragement 
to  higher  endeavor.  The  work  upon  the  Faust  lit 
erature  had  already  borne  its  fruit  in  a  new  conception, 
the  plan  of  a  comprehensive,  interpretative  life  of 
Goethe  and  Schiller.  The  plan  had  occurred  to  him 
earlier,  but  had  been  ripening  during  his  labor.  The 
first  impulse,  therefore,  was  now  to  order  his  life  so  as 
to  enable  him  to  execute  it.  To  look  forward  to  a 
great  achievement, — that  gave  him  a  bound  of  life, 
which  never  could  come  from  any  rest  in  a  thing 
done.  It  was  with  peculiar  pleasure,  therefore,  that 
he  received  from  Mr.  Longfellow  on  the  occasion  of 
his  visit,  a  hint  to  the  same  effect.  After  his  return 
to  Cedarcroft,  he  wrote  to  the  elder  poet :  — 

TO    H.    W.    LONGFELLOW. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  December  19,  1870. 

When  you  have  read  the  volume  can  you  perhaps  take  fifteen 
minutes  to  tell  me  wherein  I  have  fallen  short  of  my  design  ?  I 


THE   TRANSLATION  OF  FAUST.  545 

have  been  living  so  near  to  the  work  without  the  advantage  of 
other  eyes  and  minds,  that  your  judgment  will  have  an  especial 
value  to  me  just  at  present,  while  I  am  busy  with  the  Second 
Part.  Do  not  fear  that  you  can  be  too  frank.  You  have  recog 
nized  my  literary  endeavors  so  generously  for  years  past,  that  I 
acknowledge  your  fullest  right  to  correct  me. 

It  really  gives  me  a  new  faith  in  myself  to  know  that  you  hit 
upon  the  very  plan  which  has  been  haunting  my  brain  for  a  year 
or  two.  It  is  a  grand  undertaking,  and  I  have  been  visited  by 
doubts  of  my  capacity  to  perform  it,  but  a  little  more  time,  I 
hope,  will  give  me  full  courage  as  well  as  better  skill.  My  wife 
was  delighted  when  I  told  her  of  the  coincidence,  and  I  also  take 
it  as  an  auspicious  omen. 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW  TO  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

CAMBRIDGE,  December  23,  1870. 

I  was  reading  the  "  Prelude  "  when  your  letter  came.  It  is  an 
admirable  bit  of  translation,  and  if  the  rest  is  like  it,  you  are 
safe.  I  foresee  that  if  any  criticisms  are  to  be  made,  they  will 
be  only  verbal,  and  not  on  the  general  execution  of  the  work. 

I  read  very  slowly  and  deliberately,  because  I  hate  a  glut  of 
anything,  and  wish  to  ponder  and  enjoy.  The  after- taste  that 
poetry  leaves  in  the  mind  is  what  we  really  judge  it  by.  Any 
thing  that  strikes  me  as  dubious  I  will  mark  and  mention  to  you 
when  you  come  again.  I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  the  dinner  at 
Fields'.  I  did  extremely.  It  was  a  joyful  occasion,  and  I  still 
regret  that  your  wife  was  not  there. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

CEDARCROFT,  December  26,  1870. 

.  .  .  M.  wrote  to  you  about  my  glorious  visit  to  Boston,  and 
dinner  with  the  authors.  "  Faust  "  is  everywhere  pronounced  a 
great  success,  and  will  give  me  a  permanent  place  in  our  litera 
ture.  Now  all  this  is  just  my  business  in  life,  and  when  I  am 
not  working  I  ought  to  have  rest,  diversion,  and  profitable  so 
ciety  ;  not  worry,  loneliness,  and  a  neighborhood  which  can  avail 
me  nothing.  I  see,  more  clearly  than  ever,  that  I  must  change 
my  surroundings.  If  I  keep  my  vigor  I  have  twenty  years  of 
steady  growth  and  improving  work  before  me,  and  cannot  afford 
to  lose  any  further  chances.  A  singular  circumstance  is  that 
Longfellow  came  to  me  in  Boston,  and  suggested  that  I  should 


546  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

do  the  very  thing  which  for  a  year  past  I  have  determined  to  do, 
the  literary  plan  which  will  take  me  to  Germany  for  two  years. 
He  said  it  was  the  thing  which  I  should  undertake,  not  guessing 
that  I  had  already  hit  upon  it.  I  have  never  been  more  cheered 
and  encouraged. 

Simultaneously  with  the  publication  of  the  First 
Part  of  "  Faust,"  the  novel  of  "  Joseph  and  his 
Friend "  was  completed  serially  in  the  "  Atlantic," 
and  published  as  a  book  by  G.  P.  Putnam. 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 

A  BUSY  MAN'S   REST. 

1871. 

But  the  thing  most  near  to  the  freedom  I  covet 

Is  the  freedom  I  wrest 
From  a  time  that  would  bar  me  from  climbing  above  it, 

To  seek  the  East  in  the  West. 
I  have  dreamed  of  the  forms  of  a  nobler  existence 

Than  you  give  me  here, 

And  the  beauty  that  lies  afar  in  the  dateless  distance 
,  I  would  conquer,  and  bring  more  near. 

In  the  Lists. 

THE  Notes  to  "  Faust "  had  cost  the  writer  no  small 
part  of  the  labor  which  he  expended  upon  the  entire 
work,  and  finding  the  preparation  of  those  for  the 
Second  Part  more  than  he  could  accomplish  in  the 
country,  Bayard  Taylor  went  with  his  family  to  New 
York  before  the  end  of  January,  and  remained  there 
till  April.  He  worked  under  the  stimulus  of  frequent 
and  hearty  congratulation  at  the  success  of  the  vol 
ume  already  published,  but  he  knew  that  he  had  much 
to  do  in  overcoming  the  general  prejudice  which  ex 
isted  against  the  Second  Part,  and  he  regarded  that 
portion  as  a  severer  test  of  his  powers  as  a  translator 
and  interpreter.  He  bent  all  his  energies  toward  a 
satisfactory  completion  of  his  task,  and  knew  no  re 
lief  until  the  work  was  finally  published. 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 

CEDARCROFT,  January  17,  1871. 

Your  letter  came  to  me  as  a  beautiful  birthday  gift,  and  made 
an  inner  sunshine  under  the  cloudy  sky.  I  was  especially  glad 


548  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

to  find  that  my  letter  was  an  encouragement  to  you.  It  was  not 
half  what  I  meant  to  say  ;  when  I  read  it  over,  it  seemed  cold 
and  imperfect ;  and  I  could  not  have  guessed  that  you  would  so 
instantly  feel  how  much  more  lay  behind  the  words  than  they 
strictly  expressed. 

Your  hearty  and  generous  commendation  of  "Faust"  is  one 
of  the  most  welcome  which  has  come  to  me.  I  am  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  the  book's  reception.  The  first  reviews  struck  the 
keynote  of  judgment,  and  thus  far  I  have  neither  seen  nor  heard 
of  a  discordant  sound.  The  private  letters  of  congratulation  are 
unexpectedly  numerous.  Longfellow,  Dr.  Furiiess,  Mrs.  Wistar, 
Chittenden  (a  Faust  scholar),  A.  D.  White,  Rev.  Dr.  Powers  of 
Chicago,  and  various  others  have  written  to  me.  Osgood  an 
nounces  that  he  is  entirely  satisfied  with  the  result,  and  will  do 
his  best  to  make  the  work  a  publishing  success.  So,  in  the 
words  of  Daniel  Webster,  "  I  have  great  reason  to  be  proud." 

The  difference  you  notice  between  MS.  and  print  is  partly  ow 
ing  to  the  severe  final  revision,  in  which  I  tested  every  word  once 
more  and  sternly  struck  out  whatever  seemed  to  have  the  least 
reflection  of  me,  though  it  might  have  been  more  agreeable  to 
eye  and  ear.  I  can  see  nothing,  now,  that  is  not  Goethe.  You 
are  right  as  to  Brooks  ;  he  fails  in  rhythmical  quality  and  dig 
nity  of  tone,  but  he  is  very  conscientious,  and  deserves  a  great 
deal  more  credit  than  he  receives.  The  Second  Part  you  read 
was  Birch's,  about  the  worst  specimen  of  translation  ever  inflicted 
on  the  world.  I  feel  sure  you  will  enjoy  my  Second  Part,  and 
also  (I  hope)  my  explanatory  Notes,  which  are  really  important. 
If  I  have  not  made  all  the  enigmas  tolerably  clear,  I  have  miser 
ably  failed. 

In  the  Notes  to  the  First  Part,  I  rejected  four  times  as  much 
as  I  gave.  My  object  was  to  furnish  all  that  is  necessary,  and  no 
more,  and  to  present  that  in  such  a  form  that  the  unscholarly 
reader  may  read  it.  So  in  the  Second  Part,  renunciation  must 
also  be  one  of  my  virtues.  Here,  however,  there  is  a  great  deal 
more  of  my  own  independent  criticism.  The  material  is  wonder 
fully  rich  and  varied,  and  the  field,  being  newer  and  esteemed 
far  more  rugged,  has  a  special  attraction  for  me. 

But  enough  of  this  :  I  have  barely  time  to  write  these  few 
lines,  with  twenty-five  volumes  open  around  me  on  chairs,  and 
proof  to  be  read  before  the  next  mail  goes.  We  go  to  New 
York  in  two  or  three  days,  —  probably  on  Friday,  —  and  shall 


A   BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  549 

descend  at  the  Irving,  Broadway  and  Twelfth,  where  I  hope  to 
see  you  on  Saturday  or  Sunday. 

TO  MISS   LAURA  C.   REDDEN. 

CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  January  18, 1871. 
You  are  really  magnanimous  to  overlook  my  long  delay  in 
replying  to  your  last  summer's  letter,  and  to  punish  me  by  kind 
ness  and  congratulation.  It  is  not  a  rose-leaf  (although  that 
would  have  satisfied  me,  Sybarite),  but  a  warm,  hearty  clasp  of 
the  hand  which  you  give  ;  and  I  return  it  as  heartily.  As  for  the 
cup  running  over,  when  did  ever  an  author's  cup  of  success  actu 
ally  run  over  ?  When  was  it  ever  so  full  that  it  could  hold  no 
more  ?  Not  in  my  experience  :  but  this  time,  I  admit,  it  is  well- 
filled,  and  the  beverage  is  both  agreeable  and  tonic.  I  should  be 
very  unreasonable  if  I  were  not  gratefully  satisfied  with  this  last 
and  best  success  ;  I  should  be  very  foolish  if  I  allowed  it  to 
weaken  my  resolution  to  achieve  still  better  success.  But  there 
is  long,  severe,  and  conscientious  labor  in  the  volume,  so  I  accept 
something  as  having  been  fairly  earned,  and  my  feeling  of  jubila 
tion  is  not  exalted  enough  to  interfere  with  my  untangling  of  the 
Gordian  problems  of  the  Second  Part,  from  which  I  have  a  head 
ache  at  this  present  writing.  In  three  weeks,  D.  V.,  the  MS.  of 
that,  also,  will  be  completed  ;  and  I  foresee  that  the  long  fore 
gone  freedom  will  make  me  seem  quite  lost  and  restless,  —  as  a 
man  suddenly  thrust  out  of  penitentiary,  after  seven  years  of 
solitary  labor !  My  only  remedy  will  be  to  begin  something 
else  !  .  .  . 

TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

NEW  YORK,  February  5,  1871. 

.  .  .  My  translation  of  "  Faust "  is  a  great  literary  triumph. 
The  reviews  have  been  splendid,  and  all  one  way,  —  nothing  but 
unbounded  praise.  Last  night,  at  the  Century  Club,  everybody 
congratulated  me.  Reid  told  me  that  he  had  never  known  an 
instance  of  such  complete  success.  The  book  is  considered  a 
more  successful  (because  more  difficult)  work  than  either  Long 
fellow's  "  Dante  "  or  Bryant's  "  Homer."  Everything  that  I  have 
heretofore  done  all  together  has  not  given  me  so  much  reputa 
tion  as  this  one  undertaking.  People  say  that  no  one  need  ever 
translate  "  Faust "  again,  because  no  one  can  surpass  my  transla 
tion.  The  Second  Part  is  more  than  half  in  type.  I  have  about 


550  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

ten  days  more  to  work  on  the  Notes,  and  then  my  long  labor  will 
be  at  an  end.  I  shall  not  make  a  great  deal  of  money  on  this 
first  edition,  because  it  is  so  large  and  expensive,  but  I  ought  to 
have  a  fair,  permanent  income  from  the  popular  edition,  when  it 
is  published. 

I  will  tell  you  my  plan  confidentially.  It  is  to  write  a  biography 
of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  such  as  has  not  yet  been  written.  Goethe 
occupies  the  same  place  in  German  as  Shakespeare  in  English  lit 
erature,  and  his  works  are  more  and  more  studied  in  this  country. 
My  studies  for  "  Faust "  will  enable  me  to  undertake  the  biog 
raphy  ;  but  to  do  something  better  than  any  one  else,  I  must  go 
to  Germany  for  at  least  two  years,  become  acquainted  with  all 
the  places  where  the  poet  lived,  collect  materials  and  qualify  my 
self  in  every  way  for  the  work,  as  I  could  not  do  at  home.  What 
I  shall  do  will  not  be  labor  but  simply  occupation  ;  the  collection 
of  material  will  be,  really,  a  recreation  for  me.  When  A.  wrote 
that  I  had  done  enough,  and  could  afford  to  rest  on  my  laurels, 
she  did  not  reflect  that  further  and  better  work  is  for  me  only 
another  name  for  life.  I  have  had  enough  of  mere  temporary 
popularity,  and  am  tired  of  it ;  but  I  have  now  begun  to  do  the 
things  that  shall  be  permanent  in  literature,  and  have  not  only 
the  strength  to  undertake  and  carry  them  out,  but  they  have 
also  become  necessary  to  me,  a  source  of  happiness  as  well  as  a 
means  of  success.  I  think  you  can  .understand  what  I  mean. 
When  you  notice  that  I  am  constantly  changing,  you  should  also 
remember  that  change  is  the  sign  of  growth,  and  that  if  I  was 
now  just  the  man  I  was  ten  years  ago,  I  could  never  hope  to  ac 
complish  anything  more.  For  my  part,  my  prayer  is  that  I  shall 
never  stop,  but  go  on  changing,  and  therefore  growing,  while  I 
live.  You  must  not  apply  to  me  the  same  standard  as  to  the 
others  with  whom  I  grew  up.  I  have  a  different  nature,  differ 
ent  duties,  and  therefore  a  wholly  different  life.  No  one  can 
decide  for  me,  because  no  one  knows  what  I  am  able  to  do  and 
must  do. 

.  .  .  There  is  a  satisfaction  in  planning,  and  the  more  you  do 
of  it,  the  better  you  will  be  prepared  to  do  whatever  shall  be  best 
when  the  time  comes.  All  I  want  is  that  you  shall  make  such 
an  arrangement  as  will  give  you  most  comfort  and  least  trouble. 
I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  in  Europe  now,  because  I  know  the 
rest  will  do  you  good,  in  spite  of  yourself.  I  heard  a  physician 
say,  last  night,  that  brain-work,  alone,  hardly  ever  breaks  down 


A  BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  551 

anybody  ;  but  violent  emotions,  worry,  distress  of  mind  or  heart, 
everything  that  affects  the  feelings  —  bring  on  apoplexy,  paral 
ysis,  softening  of  the  brain,  and  all  the  other  miseries  which  come 
upon  so  many  persons.  He  is  perfectly  right.  What  we  all 
need  is,  not  to  live  without  work,  but  to  be  free  from  worry. 

TO   J.    B.    PHILLIPS. 
44  CLINTON  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  February  8,  1871. 

I  have  really  not  been  able  to  write  sooner.  I  am  busy  day  and 
night  with  Part  II.,  which  is  not  nearly  all  in  type,  and  the  Notes 
not  yet  finished.  I  am  so  pulled  down,  physically,  by  this  work, 
that  I  must  stave  off  everything  which  must  not  necessarily  be 
done.  Ten  days  more,  D.  V.,  will  free  me  from  the  long  captiv 
ity. 

For  once,  all  petty  spites  are  silenced,  and  I  hear  a  universal 
chorus  of  congratulation.  The  reviews  are  all  one  way,  and  the 
private  expressions  even  stronger.  English  and  German  critics 
say  the  same  thing,  and  the  substance  of  all  is  that  no  other 
translation  approaches  mine  in  reproducing  the  meaning,  spirit, 
tone,  and  music  of  the  original,  —  also  that  the  lyrical  passages 
cannot  be  better  done.  In  short,  that  I  have  given  the  English 
"  Faust,"  which  will  henceforth  be  the  only  one. 

Those  who  know  the  original  best  are  the  loudest  in  congratu 
lation.  I  get  many  letters  from  strangers,  —  the  other  day  two 
from  the  West,  begging  pardon  for  doubting  my  ability  in  ad 
vance,  and  confessing  to  an  unjust  prejudice.  ...  I  cannot  go 
into  details  of  your  translation  of  the  "  Gods  of  Greece,"  for  no 
distraction  can  be  allowed  until  my  Notes  are  finished.  When 
you  tell  me  that  you  wrote  it  at  one  sitting,  however,  I  am  sur 
prised.  With  all  my  years  of  practice  in  translating,  I  should 
not  undertake  to  do  it  in  less  than  three  days.  Remember  what 
Mahomet  says  ..."  Haste  is  of  the  Devil."  Believe  me,  that 
is  not  the  way  to  do  good  work.  The  poem  is  very  difficult,  for 
the  reason  that  the  lines  must  be  so  closely  translated  in  order  to 
produce  the  same  effect.  What  would  you  say  to  my  hunting  up 
twenty  or  thirty  synonyms  for  every  chief  word  in  a  quatrain, 
and  then  spending  two  or  three  hours  in  making  them  fit  in  the 
best  possible  form  ?  Then,  a  year  later,  in  many  cases,  all  the 
work  was  done  over  again,  in  order  to  get  a  better  combina 
tion.  Nobody  ever  succeeded  in  rapid  translation, — not  even 
the  highest  talent.  .  .  . 


552  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

44  CLINTON  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  March  8,  1871. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  write  sooner,  for  the  conclusion  of  the 
Second  Part  not  only  occupied  all  my  time,  but  so  exhausted  my 
strength,  that  now,  ten  days  after  finishing  the  work,  I  am  only 
just  beginning  to  recover  my  ordinary  vitality.  When  you  sec 
the  volume,  you  will  guess  how  much  laborious  research  was 
necessary.  The  printing  is  now  going  on,  and  it  will  be  pub 
lished  about  the  25th.  It  will  not  be  generally  popular  ;  it  is 
too  high  for  that  ;  but  I  think  it  will  excite  some  curiosity.  As 
a  piece  of  literary  work  it  is  superior  to  the  First  Part,  and  some 
portions  —  the  "  Helena  "  especially  —  are  more  successfully 
translated.  I  feel  quite  calm  about  its  reception,  for  the  first 
volume  has  succeeded  altogether  beyond  my  expectations.  The 

first  wholly  invidious  notice  appears  to-day  in  the ,  written 

by  a  Rev.  Somebody  (I  forget  his  name),  —  a  splendid  specimen 
of  the  orthodox-snobbish  style.  .  .  . 

I  get  grudging  recognition  from  other  quarters,  but  I  do  not 
mind  it.  Indeed,  this  is  natural :  for  I  have  done  a  great  deal 
of  imperfect  work  hitherto,  and  there  is  a  reluctance  in  many 
writers  for  the  press  to  admit  that  I  am  really  capable  of  better 
things.  With  such  men  as  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Emerson,  and 
Whittier  I  stand  on  another  footing,  and  so  can  easily  bide  my 
time.  The  true  poets  are  not  only  tolerant  but  generous  ;  they 
see  the  aim  and  the  aspiration.  But  the  intermediate  class  is 
made  up  of  narrow,  prejudiced,  semi-developed  minds,  who  sus 
pect  all  success  until  it  has  been  sealed  by  those  above  them. 
Even  they  will  in  time  do  me  justice.  We  are  living  through  a 
very  curious,  unsettled  stage  of  literature.  I  may  be  mistaken, 
but  I  think  I  can  already  separate  the  transient  from  the  perma 
nent  elements.  I  am  fighting  my  way  from  an  old  place  to  a 
new,  and  this  is  much  more  difficult  than  it  was  to  win  the 
former. 

What  you  say  of  "  Joseph  "  delights  me,  for  you  have  recog 
nized  exactly  what  I  attempted  to  do,  —  that  is,  to  throw  some 
indirect  light  on  the  great  questions  which  underlie  civilized  life, 
and  the  existence  of  which  is  only  dimly  felt,  not  intelligently 
perceived,  by  most  Americans.  I  allowed  the  plot  to  be  directed 
by  these  cryptic  forces  ;  hence,  a  reader  who  does  not  feel  them 
will  hardly  be  interested  in  the  external  movement  of  the  story. 
The  book  is  not  what  it  might  be,  if  I  could  have  given  more 
time  and  study  to  it  ;  but  I  would  rather  miss  a  high  mark  than 


A   BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  553 

hit  a  low  one  in  the  bull's  eye.  I  will  tell  you,  now,  that  7  con 
sider  it  my  best  novel,  with  all  its  deficiencies.  So  do  a  few  oth 
ers  ;  but  the  blessed  half-educated  public  sees  nothing  in  the 
book  but  dullness. 

44  CLINTON  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  March  23,  1871. 

I  have  just  received  your  letter,  and  as  I  may  not  have  much 
leisure  again  for  a  fortnight,  I  scratch  off  a  few  lines  now.  We 
go  to  Boston  to-morrow.  My  Second  Part  will  be  published  on 
Saturday,  when  I  am  to  dine  with  all  the  authors  at  their  club. 
Sunday  we  spend  in  Cambridge  with  Lowell  and  Longfellow, 
and  at  the  end  of  next  week  shall  be  in  Cedarcroft  again  for  the 
rest  of  the  year.  I  greatly  enjoy  these  visits  to  Boston  ;  there  I 
am  at  home,  and  feel  that  I  am  known  and  helped. 

I  thought  the 's  review  would  amuse  you.  Don't  be  de 
ceived  by  the  fellow  seeming  to  know  English.  What  he  says  of 
impermeate  is  infernal  nonsense.  I  suppose  he  would  say  that  im- 
mingle  means  not  to  mingle.  He  does  n't  know  that  im  is  the 
Latin  inter  in  this  case,  and  perfectly  correct.  So  much  for  the 
prevalent  charlatanerie  in  criticism  !  Now  if  you  want  a  fine 

specimen  of  the  dignified  idiotic,  read  the 's  notice  this  week. 

Observe  the  careful  misrepresentation  of  my  Preface,  and  the 
curious  contradictions  of  the  closing  paragraph.  I  do  not  know 
a  better  example  of  a  man  trying  to  seem  to  say  something,  while 
he  means  to  say  nothing.  How  literary  history  repeats  itself  ! 
This  is,  for  us,  a  repetition  of  the  time  when  Nicolai  boasted  that 
"  he  would  soon  finish  Goethe,"  and  when  Count  Stolberg  called 
Schiller  "  vulgar  and  atheistic."  One's  lasting  hope  and  comfort 
must  be,  that  whatever  is  merely  smart  and  flippant  only  serves 
the  taste  of  the  day,  and  may  to-morrow  be  supplanted  by  some 
thing  else  equally  smart  and  flippant.  If  I  found  the  least  trace 
of  honest,  sincere  purpose  in  these  fellows,  I  should  take  their 
sneers  more  seriously.  But  they  are  a  tribe  of  half-cultured 
blasirte,  whose  motto  is,  "  Say  nothing  good  of  the  living  ! "  If 
I  live  long  enough,  I  shall  finally  be  annoyed  by  their  shallow, 
patronizing  praise,  from  which  I  pray  Heaven  I  may  be  spared  ! 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

March  29,  1871. 

I  am  just  from  Boston,  where  we  had  a  jolly  time.  Dined 
with  the  Saturday  Club,  lunched  with  Howells,  dined  with  Long- 


554  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

fellow,  lead  with  Whipple,  and  launched  the  Second  Part  of 
"Faust,"  "a  haughty  volume,"  as  Emerson  said  to  me.  Wife 
and  I  came  back  happy.  I  go  to  Cedarcroft  to-morrow,  but 
shall  be  back  for  Saturday  evening  at  the  Century,  and  Sunday 
evening  at  Stoddard's,  hoping  to  see  you  at  both  places. 

The  Second  Part  of  "  Faust "  was  published  March 
25,  1871,  by  James  K.  Osgood  &  Co.,  who  had  suc 
ceeded  Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.  since  the  publication  of 
the  First  Part  in  the  December  previous.  "  Faust " 
was  issued  in  the  style  which  had  already  expressed 
the  dignity  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  "  Dante,"  Mr.  Bryant's 
"  Homer,"  Mr.  Norton's  "  Yita  Nuova,"  and  was  af 
terward  to  be  used  for  Mr.  Cranch's  "  Virgil,"  a  no 
table  series  of  works  indicative  of  American  poetical 
scholarship.  Once  before  only  had  the  First  Part  of 
"Faust"  been  translated  by  an  American,  the  Rev. 
Charles  T.  Brooks,  and  this  honored  scholar  and  poet 
was  one  of  the  first  to  congratulate  Bayard  Taylor 
upon  the  final  completion  of  his  task :  — 

CHARLES    T.    BROOKS    TO    BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

NEWPORT,  April  3,  1871. 

I  take  the  earliest  opportunity  to  thank  you  for  the  very  accept 
able  gift  of  your  magnum  opus,  —  your  exactum  monumentum,  — 
the  translation  of  the  Second  Part  of  "  Faust."  The  mere  labor 
of  reproducing  rhyme  and  rhythm  must  have  been  enormous.  I 
know  something  thereof  by  experience,  having  tried  my  hand  at 
the  introductory  scene  at  the  time  I  finished  the  First  Part. 

I  have  only  been  able  yet  to  glance  at  your  execution  of  the 
beginning  and  end,  from  which  I  feel  confident  that  you  have 
had  great  success  in  this  laborious  undertaking. 

I  shall  be  very  glad  to  be  convinced  (if  you  are  right)  of  the 
high  claim  you  set  up  for  this  Part  as  an  intellectual  creation.  I 
confess  I  have  been  accustomed  to  think  that  only  the  two  ex 
treme  piers  or  abutments  were  finished,  and  then  all  sorts  of 
magnificent  material  was  thrown  in  to  fill  up  the  chasm.  But  I 
speak  modestly  about  this,  because,  after  all,  I  am  very  weak 


A  BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  555 

in  the  Faustian  literature,  my  work  upon  Part  First  having  been 
a  simple  labor  of  poetic  love. 

I  incline  to  think  that  you  have  hit  it  at  last  in  regard  to  that 
old  puzzle  "  Zeig'  mir  die  Frucht,"  etc.,  although  I  confess  I  have 
some  lingering  difficulties,  the  chief  one  being  that  upon  the  as 
sumption  of  Faust's  saying  the  thing  in  such  a  slighting  tone,  as 
if  he  would  take  all  the  poor  Devil  has  to  give,  it  is  hard  to 
motive  Mephistopheles's  answer  :  — 

"  Bin  solcher  Auftrag  schreckt  mich  nicht." 

That  word  schreckt  was  what  drove  me  to  the  supposition  of  a 
peculiar  wild  challenge  on  Faust's  part  in  the  "  Eh'  man  sie 
bricht." 

The  English  edition  of  the  translation  of  the  entire 
work  was  published  by  Strahan  in  July,  the  German 
edition  of  Part  First  by  Brockhaus,  of  Leipzig,  at  the 
end  of  the  year.  The  Second  Part  did  not  follow  in 
Germany  until  1876.  "  In  concluding  this  labor  of 
years,"  Bayard  Taylor  wrote,  when  dismissing  the 
Second  Part  from  his  hand,  "  I  venture  to  express  the 
hope  that,  however  I  may  have  fallen  short  of  repro 
ducing  the  original  in  another,  though  a  kindred  lan 
guage,  I  may,  at  least,  have  assisted  in  naturalizing  the 
masterpiece  of  German  literature  among  us,  and  to 
that  extent  have  explained  the  supreme  place  which 
has  been  accorded  to  Goethe  among  the  poets  of  the 
world.  Where  I  have  differed  from  the  German  crit 
ics  and  commentators,  I  would  present  the  plea  that 
the  laws  of  construction  are  similar,  whether  one  builds 
a  cottage  or  a  palace ;  and  the  least  of  authors,  to 
whom  metrical  expression  is  a  necessity,  may  have  some 
natural  instinct  of  the  conceptions  of  the  highest." 

The  colloquial  knowledge  of  German  which  the 
translator  possessed  was  of  avail,  since  it  enabled  him 
to  think  in  the  language ;  but  the  modest  and  reserved 
expression  in  the  last  sentence  of  the  above  passage 


556  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

discloses  the  real  power  which  enabled  him  to  cope 
with  the  profoundest  difficulty  in  translating  "  Faust." 
He  was  a  poet.  It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  his  poetic 
power  lay  at  the  foundation  of  all  his  linguistic  attain 
ments.  He  apprehended  foreign  speech  and  foreign 
life  in  all  its  forms  through  that  poetic  faculty  which 
is  of  the  nature  of  intuition.  Not  that  labor  was  want 
ing,  but  labor  served  to  bind  and  complete  what  had 
been  caught  at  and  appropriated  by  the  appreciative 
and  penetrative  power  of  a  poetic  mind.  Moreover, 
in  the  growth  of  his  own  nature,  Bayard  Taylor  had 
come  to  think  and  create  in  sympathy  with  Goethe. 
No  doubt  the  study  which  was  given  to  "  Faust  "  had 
much  to  do  with  the  subsequent  development  of  Bayard 
Taylor's  genius,  but  it  did  not  lay  the  foundation  of 
that  development ;  it  came  when  from  other  causes  his 
mind  was  ripe  for  Goethe's  thought.  When,  therefore, 
he  was  absorbed  in  the  work  of  translation,  he  was  very 
far  removed  from  a  mechanical  task,  however  delicate. 
On  the  contrary  he  was  in  a  creative  mood,  construct 
ing  part  by  part  a  great  poem  which  lay  alongside  of 
"  Faust,"  singularly  harmonious  with  the  original,  as 
all  critics  granted,  because  the  harmony  consisted  in 
the  very  subtle  likeness  of  the  movement  of  his  mind 
with  that  of  Goethe's. 

It  was  not  the  least  of  the  endowments  which  quali 
fied  him  for  his  task  that  he  had  a  remarkable  memory. 
Occasional  hints  of  this  have  already  been  given,  and 
the  testimony  of  his  friends,  who  never  ceased  to  won 
der  at  the  exhibitions  given  by  his  memory,  is  very 
striking.  "  He  could  quote  by  the  hour,"  says  Mr. 
Boyesen,  "English,  German,  Italian,  and  even  Swed 
ish  poetry,  and  apparently  have  inexhaustible  treasures 
still  in  reserve.  I  remember  on  one  occasion  we  were 


A   BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  557 

debating  the  merits  of  the  various  translations  of  Teg- 
ner's  'Frithiof's  Saga,'  and  I  was  maintaining  that 
after  Longfellow's  exquisite  rendering  of  '  The  Temp 
tation,'  and  a  few  other  separate  poems,  no  poetaster 
who  chose  to  translate  the  whole  work  had  any  right 
to  try  his  unskilled  hand  on  these,  but  ought  simply 
to  incorporate  Mr.  Longfellow's  renderings  ;  of  course, 
with  proper  acknowledgment  of  their  source.  '  And 
still,'  I  added,  '  there  is  in  single  passages  of  the  orig 
inal  a  flavor  so  subtle  that  even  so  sensitive  an  artist 
as  Longfellow  fails  to  catch  it.  It  is  so  fleeting  that 
it  utterly  refuses  to  be  translated  into  another  tongue,' 
and  I  began  to  quote, — 

Straxt  ar  gamle  kungen  vaken.  *  Mycket  var  den  somn  mig  vard, 
Ljufiigt  sofver  man  i  skuggan,  skyddad  af  den  tappres  svard. 

Here  my  memory  failed  me,  and  Mr.  Taylor  promptly 
continued,  — 

Dock,  hvar  ar  ditt  svard,  o  f ramling  ?  blixten's  broder,  hvar  ar 

ban? 
Hvem  bar  skilt  Er,  I  som  aldrig  skulle  skiljas  frail  hvarann  ?  ' 

and  so  on  for  five  or  six  verses. 

"  I  have  frequently  heard  Mr.  Taylor  complain  that 
his  memory  was  an  inconvenience  to  him.  He  would 
read  by  chance  some  absurd  or  absolutely  colorless 
verse,  and  it  would  continue  to  haunt  him  for  days. 
One  single  reading  sometimes  sufficed  to  fix  a  poem 
indelibly  in  his  mind.  The  First  Part  of  '  Faust '  I 
verily  believe  he  could  repeat  from  beginning  to  end ; 
at  all  events,  I  never  happened  to  allude  to  any  pas 
sage  which  he  could  not  recite  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Even  the  Second  Part,  with  its  evasive  and  impalpable 
meanings,  he  had  partly  committed  to  memory ;  or 
rather  it  had,  without  any  effort  of  his  own,  committed 
itself  to  his  memory."  l 

1  Lippincotf  s  Magazine,  August,  1879. 


558  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

This  power  was  of  great  value  to  him  in  his  work  of 
translation,  since  it  released  his  mind  from  the  neces 
sity  of  a  fatiguing  hunt  after  particulars,  and  enabled 
him  to  hold  steadily  before  his  imagination  the  large 
thought  of  the  verse,  to  make  comparisons  with  in 
stantaneous  readiness,  and  to  move  freely  and  unem 
barrassed  through  his  material. 

Before  returning  to  Cedarcroft,  Bayard  Taylor  had 
arranged  with  Messrs.  Scribner,  Armstrong  &  Co.  to 
edit  for  them  a  series  of  volumes,  entitled  a  "  Library 
of  Travel."  He  began  at  once  the  preparation  of  the 
first,  on  Arabia,  and  was  busy  with  this,  with  contribu 
tions  to  the  "Atlantic"  and  the  "Tribune,"  and  with 
the  preparation  of  -a  second  course  of  lectures  on  Ger 
man  literature  for  Cornell,  until  the  end  of  May,  when 
with  his  wife  he  went  to  Ithaca  to  deliver  his  lectures. 
This  work,  necessary  as  a  means  of  livelihood,  neces 
sary  also  as  an  outlet  for  his  untiring  mental  activity, 
was  yet  in  a  measure  a  relief  after  the  strain  laid 
upon  him  by  his  Faust  work,  and  while  engaged  upon 
it  he  was  in  a  more  or  less  reflective  mood,  taking 
note  both  of  his  own  intellectual  experience  and  of  the 
movement  in  literature  about  him. 

TO   JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

CEDARCROFT,  Saturday,  April  29, 1871. 

I  have  an  ache,  or  a  neuralgia,  or  some  other  "  cussed  "  thing 
in  the  back  of  my  head,  which  prevents  me  from  working  at 
my  compilation  of  "  Travels  in  Arabia  "  for  Scribner  &  Co.,  a 
piece  of  labor  which  I  have  undertaken  for  money,  and  for  money 
alone.  Let  that  be  a  comfort  to  you,  —  if  it  is  any  comfort  to 
know  that  others  are  in  the  same  boat  with  you,  and  unable  to 
skull.  But  I  am  capable  of  answering  your  welcome  letter,  for 
it  is  no  harder  to  think  to  a  friend  than  to  talk  to  him  ;  and 
yours,  albeit  grave,  not  to  say  desponding,  suggests  many  things. 


A  BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  559 

It  is  true,  we  have  fallen  on  evil  times.  I  think  it  will  be 
ten  years  before  either  literature  or  art  will  be  as  popular  and 
profitable  as  they  were  ten  years  ago.  With  all  the  splendid 
patriotism  which  the  war  called  forth,  we  cannot  escape  its  con 
sequences.  The  people  have  become  materialized,  their  culture 
is  temporarily  disturbed  because  not  well  grounded,  the  very 
best  of  the  younger  generation  are  lost,  the  rage  for  mere  di 
version  and  intellectual  excitement  taints  the  public  taste,  —  and 
so  nothing  is  left  to  us  artists  but  to  possess  our  souls  in  pa 
tience  until  the  better  time  comes.  My  chief  comfort  is  the 
belief  that  we  are  now  just  about  passing  the  climax  of  discour 
agement,  and  any  change  will  be  for  the  better.  I  think  it  pru 
dent,  however,  to  revise  and  recast  my  plan  of  life,  to  cut  loose 
from  all  extra  expenditures,  adopt  some  simpler  and  more  con 
venient  form  of  living,  and  secure  myself  (if  I  can)  against  the 
necessity  of  writing  for  bread.  While  the  necessity  lasts,  I 
must  submit  ;  but  I  am  somewhat  weary,  after  so  many  years  of 
hard  work,  and  crave  the  power  of  saving  my  strength  and  en 
thusiasm  for  the  literary  plans  which  are  really  a  part  of  my 
life.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come  to  the  same  conclusion,  so 
far  as  a  secluded  life  is  concerned.  That  might  answer  in  Eng 
land,  or  in  some  parts  of  Germany,  but  seclusion  in  our  country 
means  nothing  but  moral  and  intellectual  stagnation.  The  crea 
tive  natures  are  few  and  far  apart,  except  in  New  York  and  Bos 
ton,  and  they  need  all  the  development,  all  the  comfort,  all  the 
encouragement  which  comes  of  association.  There  is  not  even 
an  appreciative  class  in  the  country,  and  the  lack  of  this  will 
pull  down  an  artist  whenever  he  tries  to  rise.  I  am  also  like 
you  in  regard  to  making  new  friends  :  I  am  growing  fastidious, 
because  I  find  fewer  persons  who  combine  character  and  com 
municative  intelligence  than  formerly.  I  am  not  satisfied  with 
the  half -refined,  over  -  demonstrative,  "gushing"  class,  who 
seemed  so  agreeable  when  I  was  younger.  At  the  same  time 
I  welcome  every  revelation  of  the  deeper  and  truer  nature  of 
genuine  men.  When  you  speak  of  "  weakness  "  in  betraying 
feeling,  you  mean,  or  should  have  said,  strength.  Our  stiff, 
hard,  damnable  Anglo-Saxon  habit  of  heart  is  a  weakness,  and 
the  worst  kind.  A  man  really  among  us  shows  courage  in  ex 
pressing  what  he  feels,  and  one  who  does  not  respect  him  the 
more  for  it  is  not  worthy  to  be  his  friend.  I  believe  in  a  frank, 
hearty,  trustful  communication  of  one  nature  to  another,  even  in 

VOL.  II.  10 


560  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

reciprocal  revelations  of  real  weakness,  as  the  very  crown  and 
blessing  of  friendship.  I  never  think  of  any  of  my  few  dear 
friends  (of  whom  you  are  always  one,  old  fellow !)  without  a 
sense  of  longing,  a  warm  desire  for  the  real,  bodily  presence. 
We  make  fewer  friends,  it  is  true,  as  we  grow  older,  but  the 
few  become  more  to  us  year  by  year.  I  don't  find  that  I  shut 
my  nature  against  any  new  approach  ;  but  I  have  not  the  same 
easy  faith  in  strangers,  and  require  a  longer  experience,  except 
in  those  rare  cases  where  you  feel  instantly  the  harmony  of  an 
other  nature,  and  are  sure  of  each  other  the  first  moment.  Now, 
in  regard  to  my  work,  I  have  almost  succeeded  in  being  satisfied 
with  the  appreciation  of  the  few  ;  at  the  same  time,  as  Longfel 
low  said  to  me  the  other  day,  the  recognition  of  what  one  has 
done,  or  tried  to  do,  is  like  a  good  draught  to  a  fire.  You  don't 
lack  the  appreciation  of  the  best  ;  your  reputation  has  grown,  not 
fallen  off,  and  I  think  the  present  apparent  neglect  is  a  sign  of 
it.  For  my  part,  I  know  that  I  am  doing  better  things  now  than 
ever  before  ;  I  know  also  that  my  market  value  is  not  half  what 
it  was  five  years  ago  ;  yet  1  devoutly  believe  that  I  shall  outlive 
many  of  the  apparently  brilliant  successes  which  are  now  blaz 
ing  around  us.  Nothing  endures  but  genuine  work  :  of  that  you 
may  be  sure. 

Now,  my  dear  McEntee,  I  propose  that  we  shall  hold  together 
in  patience,  bind  each  other's  wounds,  support  each  other's  stum 
bling  faith,  and  keep  on  doing  our  best.  The  joy  and  the  re 
ward  is  in  the  work  itself  after  all.  I  wish  you  were  here  this 
quiet  Saturday  evening.  The  woods  are  all  in  leaf  ;  tulips  and 
lilacs  in  blossom,  all  the  country  green  as  ever  May  was,  and 
every  glimpse  out  of  the  window  is  an  ecstacy.  But  this  is  not 
enough ;  I  'd  give  it  all,  to  be  nearer  my  real  life.  This  has 
come  to  be  only  a  magnificent  exile. 

TO   PAUL   H.    HAYNE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  11,  1871. 

I  owe  you,  in  the  first  place,  "  ever  so  many  "  (as  the  Eng 
lish  girls  say)  apologies  for  my  long  delay  in  answering  your  let" 
ter.  When  it  came  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  starting  for  Bos 
ton  ;  then  I  had  to  transfer  my  little  household  from  New  York 
to  this  place  ;  then  I  waited  to  get  a  copy  of  Part  II.,  so  as  to 
send  both  at  once  ;  then  I  was  ill  for  a  few  days,  and  got  be 
hindhand  with  a  piece  of  literary  work  (of  the  "  hack "  order, 


A   BUSY  MAN'S   REST.  561 

for  money  which  I  needed),  —  in  short,  this  is  enough,  although 
I  could  easily  make  a  longer  catalogue.  The  fact  is,  my  labors 
in  "  Faust "  almost  broke  me  down  completely,  yet  I  could  take 
very  little  rest  afterwards,  and  to-day,  after  returning  from  a 
business  trip  to  New  York,  is  my  first  sensation  of  release  from 
the  long  strain  upon  mind  and  body. 

I  have  now  to  prepare  a  course  of  lectures  on  Mediaeval  Ger 
man  Literature  for  Cornell  University,  and  then  I  shall  be  free, 
at  least  from  hard  work,  for  the  rest  of  the  year.  I  think  I 
deserve  a  little  rest,  although  the  law  of  my  life  seems  to  be 
labor  for  the  sake  of  growth.  No  matter  what  I  write,  I  am  dis 
satisfied  with  it  in  three  months  after  it  is  published,  and  look 
forward  to  some  new  work.  But  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise. 
I  am  only  happy  when  I  feel  that  I  am  gaining,  no  matter  how 
little,  upon  my  past. 

Shortly  after  his  return  from  Cornell,  Bayard  Tay 
lor  took  an  excursion  to  the  eastern  shore  of  Mary 
land,  the  results  of  which  appeared  in  a  paper  in 
"Harper's  Monthly,"  "Down  the  Eastern  Shore." 
Later  in  the  summer  he  accompanied  a  party  of 
friends,  invited  by  Mr.  Jay  Cooke,  to  the  Red  River 
of  the  North,  and  published  in  the  "  Tribune  "  letters 
descriptive  of  the  excursion. 

TO   MISS   LAURA  C.  REDDEN. 

CEDARCROFT,  Friday,  June  23,  1871. 

...  I  am  delighted  that  my  first  volume  gave  you  so  much 
pleasure.  As  it  was  wholly  and  purely  a  labor  of  love,  I  like  to 
see  it  heartily  accepted  by  other  minds.  The  Archangelic  Chorus 
was  the  first  thing  I  translated.  I  decided  that  if  I  could  suc 
ceed  in  that  I  could  succeed  in  all,  if  not,  not.  To  me  it  is  one 
of  the  most  wonderful  things  in  literature  ;  and  you  truly  feel 
its  grand,  planetary,  cosmic  harmony.  But  not  quite  so  fully  as 
in  the  original  !  This  work,  as  I  think  I  must  have  said  to  you 
before,  is  a  bridge  between  my  dead  literary  Past  and  my  (as  I 
pray)  living  literary  Future.  It  is  therefore  a  great  joy  to  me 
to  see  that  it  bids  fair  to  stand  firm.  My  chief  delight  is  the 
enthusiastic  words  which  begin  to  come  to  me  from  Germany. 
The  First  Part  will  be  republished  in  Leipzig  this  month,  and  I 


562  BA YARD   TAYLOR. 

have  had  an  intimation  (this  is  strictly  entre  nous)  that  Bismarck 
will  be  glad  to  receive  a  copy  from  me.  ... 

The  reception  of  "Faust"  in  Germany  was  very 
warm,  and  special  recognition  was  given  to  the  Notes 
which  accompanied  the  work.  The  volumes  sent  by 
Bayard  Taylor  passed  through  the  hands,  in  some 
cases,  of  Mr.  George  Bancroft,  who  was  then  Minister 
of  the  United  States  at  Berlin.  Mr.  Bancroft  wrote 
on  his  own  account :  "  Your  letter  reached  me  on 
Tuesday  last ;  the  books  on  Friday.  I  go  to  bed  us 
ually  as  near  ten  as  I  can  that  I  may  rise  at  five  ; 
your  volumes  kept  me  up  till  nearly  two  in  the  morn 
ing  of  Saturday  ;  the  like  of  which  has  not  happened 
to  me  in  five  years.  .  .  .  The  Second  Part  of  '  Faust ' 
I  studied  seriously  a  year  or  two  ago,  using  the  com 
mentary  of  Carri£re.  Your  translation  and  notes 
would  have  saved  me  a  world  of  trouble.  You  impart 
clearness  to  what  is  obscure,  and  give  a  thread  of  con 
tinuity  to  what  might  seem  fantastic  and  unorganized. 
Here  is  seen  the  energy  of  Goethe's  political  feelings ; 
his  contempt  for  the  follies  and  crimes  of  misgovern- 
ment  of  German  princes  was  the  sincere  expression  of 
the  thoughts  which  he  carried  along  with  him  all  his 
life  ;  only  their  vices  were  so  deeply  seated  that  he  to 
the  last  appears  to  me  to  have  despaired  of  German 
union."  Madame  von  Holtzendorff,  of  Gotha,  summed 
up  the  excellency  of  the  work,  and  the  reason  of  its 
excellence,  when  she  wrote  :  "  You  not  merely  have  re 
produced  faithfully  word  and  form,  —  which  I  in  no 
way  esteem  lightly,  —  but  you  have  so  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  wonderful  poem  and  our  language,  and 
made  yourself  one  with  it,  that  your  translation  is  the 
perfect  equal  of  the  original.  And  this  is  what  seems 


A  BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  563 

to  me  worthy  of  the  highest  gratitude.  We  Germans 
have  reason  to  be  proud  that  a  man  like  you  has  as 
similated  to  himself  our  nature,  our  mode  of  thinking 
and  feeling,  to  such  a  degree  as  to  understand  us  per 
fectly." 

TO   JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  24,  1871. 

I  am  the  sinner  this  time,  but  if  you  have  seen  the  "  Tribune," 
you  will  know  that  I  have  been  away  in  Manitoba,  in  the  Hud 
son  Bay  Territory,  on  a  five  weeks'  trip,  with  twenty  editors  and 
correspondents.  I  had  previously  made  a  flying  excursion  down 
the  eastern  shore  of  Maryland,  out  of  which  I  made  an  article 
for  "  Harper's  Monthly  ;  "  since  then  I  have  written  a  paper  on 
Humboldt  for  "  Harper's  Weekly,"  and  a  "  pome "  for  the 
"  Atlantic "  (that  is,  if  it  is  accepted  !),  so  you  may  imagine 
how  busy  I  have  been.  I  thought  of  you  during  our  trip,  and 
wished  you  had  been  with  us.  ...  The  company  was  a  jolly 
one,  from  beginning  to  end,  or  I  could  never  have  traveled 
those  five  thousand  miles,  including  four  hundred  of  staging, 
ten  days  camping  out,  and  no  end  of  salt  pork,  muddy  water, 
dam — condemndble  coffee,  mosquitoes,  black  dust,  gad-flies,  and 
bugs  ! 

I  came  home  very  brown,  but  much  stronger,  except  my 
stomach,  which  was  so  fatigued  that  it  is  only  now  recovering  a 
healthy  tone.  My  father  and  mother  arrived  from  Europe  while 
I  was  away.  I  find  them  very  well  and  jolly,  and  full  of  stories 
of  Rome,  Florence,  Lausanne,  and  Gotha.  By  the  bye,  I  see 
that  Yewell  is  coming,  or  has  come,  home.  Let  me  know  where 
he  is,  or  will  be  ;  I  want  to  write  to  him  as  soon  as  he  arrives. 

Through  M.'s  meeting  with  G.  on  the  boat,  I  know  that  you 
must  now  be  somewhere  among  the  Catskills,  also  that  you  have 
sold  another  picture  or  two,  which  latter  news  is  music  to  my 
ears.  I  wish  I  could  sell  one  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  "  Faust," 
but  alas  !  I  shall  probably  not  get  a  cent  from  the  large  and  lux 
urious  edition.  I  have  copies  of  the  London  and  Leipzig  edi 
tions,  both  of  which  are  very  handsome!  Yesterday  came  a 
most  friendly  letter  from  Bancroft,  who  writes  to  me  that  he  has 
sent  a  copy  to  Bismarck.  Bancroft  says  that  he  sat  up  nearly 
all  night  to  read  it.  I  can  see,  by  various  slight  indications,  how 


564  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

much  the  work  has  done  for  me  in  a  literary  sense,  and  am  there 
fore  satisfied.  If  we  could  do  with  less  money  (why  can't  we  ?) 
it  would  be  a  blessing ;  but  I  must  be  happy  in  having  a  much 
lighter  burden  now  than  I  had  last  year.  I  try  to  think  that  too 
much  good  luck  is  not  healthy,  and  I  'm  better  off  with  a  very 
moderate  portion,  but  now  and  then  the  flesh  rebels  against  the 
spirit.  I  am,  naturally,  a  most  luxurious  devil ;  I  dream  of  vel 
vet,  gold,  and  ivory,  well  knowing  that  reps  and  stone- ware  are 
just  as  good.  After  all,  any  simple  tiling,  good,  is  always  a  lux 
ury,  as  a  glass  of  Milwaukee  lager  when  you  are  thirsty  ;  an 
old-fashioned,  high-backed  splint  chair  ;  a  bath  in  a  mill-pond  ; 
a  corn-husk  mattress,  under  a  roof,  when  it  rains  ;  two  good 
cigars,  with  a  friend  attached  to  the  other  one  ! 

I  have  ten  days  of  hard  hack-work,  and  then  a  tolerably  easy 
Fall  before  me.  I  have  made  an  arrangement  to  give  only  six 
teen  lectures  for  two  thousand  dollars  about  the  end  of  October, 
and  hope  to  reach  New  York  and  settle  for  the  winter  by  the  1st 
of  December.  We  are  still  uncertain  about  the  future.  It  does 
not  seem  to  be  a  good  time  to  sell  real  estate,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  force  a  sale  and  make  a  sacrifice.  Rather  will  I  rent  the 
property  next  spring.  We  must  do  one  thing  or  the  other,  in 
order  to  go  to  Europe.  But  something  may  turn  up  any  day. 
If  I  can  only  keep  my  physical  vigor,  which  I  have  partly  re 
covered  since  last  spring,  I  shall  unravel  and  smooth  out  the 
threads  of  our  fate.  Well,  this  must  suffice  for  to-day.  Do 
write  to  me  soon,  and  my  next  shall  be  a  great  deal  more  prompt. 
Tell  me  all  the  news  of  everybody,  for  I  've  not  been  in  New 
York  since  the  riot,  when  I  saw  the  blackguards  clubbed  with 
the  greatest  delight. 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  18,  1871. 

For  the  last  week  or  two  I  have  been  trying  an  experiment 
which  I  have  long  had  in  view,  in  regard  to  those  imitations.  I 
have  written  two  or  three  chapters,  something  like  the  "  Noctes 
Ambrosianse "  in  form,  as  the  proceedings  of  a  club  of  wild 
young  litterateurs  in  the  back  room  of  a  New  York  lager-beer 
cellar,  taken  down  in  short-hand  by  a  concealed  reporter.  There 
is  conversation,  much  free-and-easy  criticism  of  dead  and  living 
authors,  discussion  of  all  sorts  of  current  literary  topics,  and 
occasional  fun  and  banter,  —  all  as  a  proper  setting  for  the  imi- 


A  BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  565 

tations.  The  thing  takes  hold  of  my  fancy,  and  constantly  sug 
gests  new  features.  I  have  already  a  list  of  forty  authors,  and 
about  a  dozen  copies,  to  be  included,  and  the  matter,  therefore, 
will  be  a  tolerable  volume. 

Now  you  wanted  the  imitations  as  they  were,  —  which  won't 
answer.  If  I  carry  out  my  present  scheme  they  take  a  different 
character,  and  become  less  appropriate  to  the  columns  of  a  daily 
paper.  They  are  not  only  specially  adapted  to  a  literary  maga 
zine,  but  would  be  more  likely,  when  so  published,  to  be  a  lit 
erary  "  success."  Not  that  it  would  make  a  great  deal  of  differ 
ence  either  way  ;  but  if  there  should  be  fun  enough  in  the  work 
to  make  a  volume  of  it  temporarily  popular,  I  think  the  chances 
would  be  better  if  it  first  appeared  in  the  "  Atlantic  "  say,  rather 
than  the  "  Tribune."  Now,  what  do  you  think  ?  .  .  .  Pray  you, 
look  at  the  matter  in  all  these  lights,  and  give  me  the  benefit  of 
your  judgment.  Don't  consider  the  "  Tribune's  "  interest  only, 
but  mine  also.  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  Howells  would  publish 
the  chapters.  I  would  if  I  were  in  his  place,  and  pay  a  round 
sum  for  them.  My  wife  says  the  plan  so  far  is  very  successful. 
I  have  written  new  imitations,  and  improved  the  old  ones,  and, 
moreover,  mean  to  crowd  a  good  deal  of  serious  matter,  under 
the  guise  of  fun,  into  the  conversations.  They  would  run  for 
six  months,  which  would  enable  the  volume  to  be  published  in 
May  for  summer  reading. 

I  shall  say  nothing  until  I  hear  from  you.  If  you  seriously 
think  it  will  be  better  for  the  articles,  and  the  later  publication, 
to  have  them  in  the  "Tribune,"  I'll  —  well,  I'll  do  my  best 
to  think  so,  too.  It  does  not  seem  so  to  me  now. 

Please  deliberate  soon,  and  write.  I  thought  to  have  heard 
from  you  before,  but  I  suppose  the  breaking  of  the  Ring  claims 
all  your  energies. 

The  imitations  referred  to  in  this  letter  finally  took 
the  form  of  the  "  Diversions  of  the  Echo  Club,"  pub 
lished  serially  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly,"  and  after 
ward  in  a  book.  The  reader  will  recall  the  frolic  of 
Bayard  Taylor's  earlier  life  in  New  York,  when  with 
Mr.  Stoddard,  Mr.  Aldrich,  Mr.  O'Brien,  and  occa 
sionally  with  others,  the  young  poets  entertained  them 
selves  with  parodies  upon  each  other,  upon  classic  au- 


566  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

thors,  and  upon  the  popular  favorites  of  England  and 
America.  Since  then,  the  clever  verses  had  sometimes 
leaked  out  or  had  been  printed  by  others  of  the  num 
ber.  Bayard  Taylor  now  conceived  the  notion  of  giv 
ing  a  certain  body  to  the  fun.  He  was  half  vexed, 
half  entertained  at  the  sudden  rise  in  America  of  the 
dialect  school  of  poetry.  It  suggested  trains  of 
thought  which  could  be  followed  in  a  playful  yet  sin 
cere  manner,  and  he  fancied  that  he  could  make  his 
parodies  not  only  bits  of  fun,  but  sly  criticisms  as 
well.  Throwing  aside  all  the  previous  parodies  except 
a  few  of  his  own,  he  turned  to  and  wrote  thirty  or 
forty  skits  in  rapid  succession,  —  an  extraordinarily 
varied  lot,  and  after  some  changes  made  upon  consul 
tation  with  friends  published  the  jest  in  the  "  Atlan 
tic."  It  was  intended  to  keep  the  authorship  a  secret, 
but  his  name  was  pretty  authoritatively  mentioned  be 
fore  the  series  had  entirely  appeared.  As  might  be 
expected  his  good-natured  raillery  cost  him  if  not 
friendships,  yet  some  moments  of  friendship. 

TO    WHITELAW   REID. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  14,  1871. 

.  .  .  Not  hearing  from  you  I  wrote  to  Howells  the  other  day 
about  the  imitations.  I  am  working  them  into  a  literary  dia 
logue,  serious  at  bottom,  though  with  an  external  rollicking  tone. 
But  the  matter  is  hardly  light  enough  for  a  daily  paper,  and  I 
think  the  result  will  be  that  Howells  and  Osgood  will  make  a 
"  feature "  of  it  for  the  "  Atlantic,"  and  pay  me  about  twice 
what  the  "  Tribune  "  would,  say  about for  four  monthly  ar 
ticles.  I  am  rejecting  many  of  the  old,  and  writing  new  ones. 
If  the  plan  succeeds  it  will  make  a  volume  which  will  have  a 
good  chance  of  popularity.  I  think  when  you  see  the  frame 
work  you  will  agree  with  me  that  this  is  the  best  thing  to  do 
with  the  material.  .  .  . 


A   BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  567 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  November  12,  1871. 

Just  returned  from  the  West  to-day.  My  first  thought  is  : 
Has  there  yet  been  a  dividend,  and  how  much  ?  I  need  to  know 
just  as  soon  as  possible  in  order  to  begin  arrangements  for  going 
to  New  York  for  the  winter.  Please  say  simply  yes  or  no  by  re 
turn  mail,  and  greatly  oblige  me. 

I  had,  on  the  whole,  a  good  time  in  the  West.  My  lecture 
on  "  Schiller "  was  really  popular,  to  my  own  surprise.  Your 
"  Cincinnati  Gazette  "  treated  me  handsomely,  or,  at  least,  a 
Mr.  Maxwell  did,  whom  I  met.  Everybody  West,  and  in  the 
cars,  was  rejoicing  over  the  redemption  of  New  York.  .  .  . 
There  are  lots  of  things  I  'd  like  to  mention,  but  no  time  to 
night.  I  want  to  go  on,  with  wife  and  child,  in  a  fortnight.  .  .  . 

It  was  during  this  fall  that  Mr.  Longfellow  pub 
lished  his  "  Divine  Tragedy."  Bayard  Taylor  took  a 
very  strong  interest  in  the  work,  especially  in  view  of 
the  comprehensive  plan  of  "  Christus  "  which  the  au 
thor  had  disclosed  to  him.  Mr.  Ripley  introduced  the 
work  in  a  long  summary  and  analysis  in  the  "  Trib 
une."  That  was  his  function  as  literary  editor.  But 
Bayard  Taylor  was  dissatisfied  with  the  result,  the 
more  that  he  was  in  possession  of  Mr.  Longfellow's 
scheme,  which  enabled  him  to  present  the  subject 
from  a  new  point  of  view.  Accordingly  he  obtained 
permission  from  the  poet  to  use  his  knowledge,  and 
from  Mr.  Keid  to  embody  it  in  a  special  contribution 
to  the  "Tribune." 

H.   W.   LONGFELLOW   TO   BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

CAMBRIDGE,  November  3,  1871. 

I  have  to-day  received  your  letter  of  Sunday,  and  hasten  to 
thank  you  for  your  generous  judgment  of  my  new  book.  It  is, 
I  assure  you,  extremely  gratifying  to  me,  and  makes  me  feel 
that  I  have  not  wholly  failed  in  treating  a  rather  difficult  subject. 

By  to-day's  post  I  send  you  the  Interludes  and  Finale,  con 
necting  and  completing  the  whole  work,  presuming  that  Osgood 
told  you  something  of  my  plan,  and  that  this  new  book  is  only 


568  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

the  first  part  of  a  work,  of  which  the  "  Golden  Legend  "  and 
the  "  New  England  Tragedies  "  are  the  second  and  third  ;  and 
which,  when  the  three  parts  are  published  together,  is  to  be  en 
titled  "  Christus."  This  is  a  very  old  design  of  mine,  formed 
before  the  "  Legend  "  was  written. 

The  "  Introitus  "  belongs  to  the  book  as  a  whole,  and  its  proper 
pendant  or  correlative  is  not  the  Epilogue  of  this  first  part,  but 
the  Finale,  which  I  send  you  to-day.  This  will  explain  the  seem 
ing  want  of  proportion  and  balance  which  you  have  noted. 

BAYARD   TAYLOR   TO    WHITELAW   REID. 

CEDARCROFT,  Monday  night,  November  27,  1871. 

Yours  of  Friday  is  just  received.  With  it  came  one  from 
Osgood,  from  which  I  quote  :  — 

"  Mr.  R.'s  review  is  good,  but  the  publishers  and  author  would 
have  been  vastly  more  gratified  if  you  could  have  had  the  oppor 
tunity  of  saying  in  print  what  you  said  to  Longfellow  in  your 
admirable  letter." 

This  indicates  just  my  own  view  in  regard  to  R.'s  article.  It 
is  thoroughly  kind,  sympathetic,  and  graceful  ;  but  it  is  not  a 
review  of  the  "  Divine  Tragedy."  Its  general  tone  is  admirable, 
but  there  is  not  one  salient  point  in  it,  —  nothing  that  tells  you 
how  Longfellow  has  treated  the  subject  ;  no  comparison  of  his  at 
tempt  with  others  ;  no  statements  of  the  difficulties  to  be  over 
come  ;  no  setting  forth  of  the  special  excellences  of  the  work, 
the  points  wherein  his  design  is  less  successful  ;  nor,  indeed, 
what  design  he  had  in  view.  The  article  expresses  a  mild,  indo 
lent,  sympathetic  mood,  not  a  clear,  well-defined  judgment.  I 
don't  know  that  I  can  come  any  nearer  to  a  full  expression  of 
my  opinion.  You  will  no  doubt  understand  just  what  I  mean. 

I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  letter  from  Longfellow,  with 
further  proofs  of  poetical  interludes  connecting  the  "  Divine 
Tragedy "  with  —  something  else  ;  but  I  have  no  authority  to 
print  anything. 

Remember  that  I  write  the  above  because  you  ask  it,  and  I 
don't  want  this  repeated  to  any  one.  R.  has  unusual  ability,  and 
his  reviews  of  theological  and  scientific  works  are  masterpieces 
of  clear  statement ;  in  judgment  he  is  timid.  When  he  comes 
to  Belles  Lettres  he  seems  more  timid  than  usual,  and  his 
criticisms  swerve  a  little  to  one  side  or  the  other  of  a  non-com 
mittal  line.  Thus  he  never  fully  satisfies  and  never  fully  offends, 


A   BUSY  MAN'S  REST.  569 

but  is  safe  more  frequently  than  most  writers  could  be.  I  like 
him  heartily  personally,  and  I  respect  his  scholarship  and  liter 
ary  ability  ;  still  I  don't  think  he  exercises  the  power  which  a 
critic  should  in  correcting  the  literary  aberrations  of  this  con 
fused  and  bewildering  generation  in  which  we  live,  —  neither 
keenly  pricking  faults  nor  sturdily  applauding  special  forms  of 
virtue. 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW  TO  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

CAMBRIDGE,  December  12,  1871.' 

I  have  just  got  your  letter,  and  hasten  to  say  that  I  see  110  pos 
sible  objection  to  what  you  propose.  On  the  contrary,  I  see  great 
furtherance  in  it.  I  am  delighted  that  you  take  such  friendly 
interest  in  my  work.  Osgood,  in  his  advertisement  to-day,  an 
nounces  the  book  as  "the  first  part  of  a  poem,  of  which  the 
*  Golden  Legend '  and  the  '  New  England  Tragedies '  form  the 
second  and  third  parts."  The  publication  of  a  few  links  of 
the  connecting  chain  can  do  no  harm,  and  may  do  good  in  help 
ing  to  give  an  intelligible  idea  of  the  whole. 

Bayard  Taylor,  meanwhile,  had  removed  with  his 
family  to  New  York  for  the  winter. 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

12  UNIVERSITY  PLACE,  Wednesday,  3  p.  m.,  December  13,  1871. 
Longfellow  is  evidently  very  much  pleased  with  the  proposi 
tion,  and  gives  me  full  liberty  to  use  the  new  material.  I  begin 
at  once,  and  shall  finish  the  article  to-morrow.  Do  you  want  to 
publish  it  immediately  ?  If  so,  I  can  take  or  send  it  down  to 
morrow  (Thursday)  afternoon.  I  go  to  Boston  on  Friday.  The 
article  will  make,  I  guess,  two  and  a  half  columns,  as  I  give  quo 
tations  from  the  unpublished  Interludes.  I  think  it  will  be  a  good 
thing  for  the  "  Tribune."  If  you  have  anything  further  to  say, 
send  a  note  to-morrow  morning.  I  should  have  gone  down  this 
afternoon,  but  the  weather  is  bad  and  I  'd  rather  write. 

Thursday  morning. 

I  write  (since  you  will  get  this  to-night)  to  suggest  that  there 
might  well  be  an  editorial  reference  to  the  review,  —  not  hinting, 
of  course,  about  our  priority  of  notice,  but  as  an  interesting 
event  in  -«ur  literary  history.  Since  Milton's  "  Paradise  Re- 


570  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

gained"  and  Klopstock's  "Messiah"  the  theme  has  not  been 
handled  by  any  competent  poet  ;  so  Longfellow's  work  is  both 
a  daring  venture  and  (probably)  a  success  all  the  higher  for  the 
failure  of  others. 

Perhaps  you  have  already  done  something  of  the  kind,  but  if 
not,  give  it  thirty  seconds  of  consideration. 

TO   GEORGE   H.    BOKER. 

12  UNIVERSITY  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  December  27,  1871. 
Surely  you  over-praise  my  poetic  farewell  ; 1  but  I  shall  not 
protest.  I  think  the  idea  of  it  was  graceful  and  appropriate, 
and  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  how  deeply  and  frankly  it  was  felt ; 
yet  I  think  it  might  have  been  better  in  a  simply  artistic  sense. 
However,  I  managed  to  say  what  I  desired,  so  far  as  substance 
was  concerned,  —  to  give  the  public  my  farewell  (and  that  of  all 
the  younger  tribe)  to  you,  as  a  poet,  yet  to  keep  the  strongest 
and  tenderest  expression  for  you  alone.  How  glad  I  am  that  I 
succeeded  !  For  I  wrote  the  stanzas,  as  I  know  you  feel,  with 
something  in  my  throat  and  my  eyes  ;  and  it  was  not  easy  to  read 
them  with  a  steady  voice.  I  knew  that  the  audience  would  chiefly 
note  the  playful  stanzas,  and  I  hoped  that  you  would  recognize 
what  they  were  intended  to  hide. 

1  On  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Boker's  departure  for  Constantinople  as  Min 
ister  of  the  United  States. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   MASQUE   OF   THE   GODS. 

1872. 

But  out  of  life  arises  song,  ' 

Clear,  vital,  strong,  — 
The  speech  men  pray  for  when  they  pine, 

The  speech  divine. 

My  Prologue. 

Now,  if  the  tree  I  planted  for  mine  must  shadow  another's, 

If  the  uncounted  tender  memories,  sown  with  the  seasons, 

Filling  the  webs  of  ivy,  the  grove,  the  terrace  of  roses, 

Clothing  the  lawn  with  unwithering  green,  the  orchard  with  blossoms, 

Singing  a  finer  song  to  the  exquisite  motion  of  waters, 

Breathing  profounder  calm  from  the  dark  Dodonian  oak-trees, 

Now  must  be  lost,  till,  haply,  the  hearts  of  others  renew  them,  — 

Yet  we  have  had  and  enjoyed,  we  have  and  enjoy  them  forever. 

ISEnvoi  (to  "  Home  Pastorals  "). 

THE  winter  life  in  New  York,  besides  its  social  at 
traction,  was  constantly  opening  to  Bayard  Taylor 
opportunities  for  literary  work.  His  wide  experience 
of  travel,  his  training  in  different  forms  of  composi 
tion,  and  his  readiness  which  was  partly  a  gift,  partly 
the  result  of  newspaper  activity,  made  him  exception 
ally  well  qualified  to  undertake  schemes  proposed  by 
publishers.  "  The  time  goes  very  fast,"  he  wrote  to 
his  mother  in  the  first  days  of  1872  ;  "  but  we  are  all 
well  and  in  good  spirits.  I  can  work  very  well  here. 
In  fact,  if  we  were  living  here,  I  should  have  no 
trouble  in  earning  four  or  five  thousand  dollars  a  year 
more  than  now."  The  contrast  to  life  at  Cedarcroft 
was  so  strong  on  this  side  that  he  was  more  than  ever 


572  BAYARD    TAYLOR. 

determined  to  break  away  from  the  entanglements  of 
that  place.  He  saw  clearly  that  if  he  were  once  rid  of 
it,  he  could  maintain  himself  with  ease  and  have  free 
dom  and  strength  for  the  work  which  concerned  him 
most.  So  he  put  his  estate  into  the  hands  of  an 
agent,  with  instructions  to  sell  if  possible ;  if  not,  to 
lease  it,  and  for  himself  determined  to  carry  out  the 
plan  which  he  had  proposed  of  making  a  long  stay  in 
Germany  for  the  purpose  of  gathering  material  for 
his  projected  scheme  of  a  double  biography  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller. 

"  Faust "  had  opened  other  paths  for  his  mind. 
The  influence  of  a  great  work  of  art,  dealing  with 
profound  themes,  is  never  so  great  as  when  the  student 
has  himself  wrought  in  its  lines.  The  creative  work 
which  Bayard  Taylor  had  expended  upon  the  transla 
tion  had  deepened  the  growing  tendency  of  his  mind 
to  occupy  itself  with  the  large  movements  of  thought. 
The  eloquence  which  had  been  so  marked  a  character 
istic  of  his  poetry  from  the  beginning  was  the  sign  of 
a  nature  which  could  pour  its  feeling  into  strong 
moulds.  It  was  only  the  due  expression  of  his  growth, 
therefore,  when  immediately  after  his  return  from  a 
terrible  experience  in  Western  travel,  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  he  sat  down  and  in  four  days  wrote,  almost  at 
white  heat,  his  poem,  "The  Masque  of  the  Gods." 
Into  it  he  discharged  the  philosophy  and  faith  which 
had  been,  since  his  sickness  at  Florence,  underlying 
his  thought  and  forming  themselves  into  substance 
and  shape. 

TO   J.    R.    OSGOOD. 

12  UNIVERSITY  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  February  20,  1872. 
Shall  you  come  on  this  week  ?     I  meant  to  wait,  but  I  have 
a  little  project  which  I  must  tell  you  at  once.     I  have  written  a 


THE  MASQUE   OF   THE   GODS.  573 

poem  of  between  six  hundred  and  seven  hundred  lines,  called 
"  The  Masque  of  the  Gods."  It  is  in  dramatic  form.  Except 
my  wife,  no  one  has  seen  it  or  will  see  it  before  publication,  but  I 
must  bring  it  out  at  once,  in  a  little  volume,  like  Lowell's  "  Ca 
thedral."  What  do  you  say  to  this  ?  I  am  determined  to  pub 
lish  without  regard  to  popularity  or  profit.  A  small  sale  would 
pay  the  expenses,  but  I  should  think  you  might  depend  on  fifteen 
hundred,  —  possibly  more.  I  want  to  get  it  out  by  the  20th  of 
March. 

If  you  come  soon,  come  and  see  me  and  it ;  if  not,  please  write 
at  once.  Meantime,  tell  no  one  of  the  matter. 

12  UNIVERSITY  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  February  23,  1872. 

.  .  .  Here  is  the  MS.  of  my  "  Masque."  I  think  you  will  agree 
with  me  that  it  ought  to  be  published  alone,  and  there  is  no 
reason  for  delaying  publication.  As  little  or  no  poetry  is  an 
nounced  for  this  spring,  it  may  get  a  little  more  attention  than 
under  other  circumstances.  It  may  be  assailed,  but  that  will 
[do]  no  harm. 

As  for  copyright,  I  should  prefer  that  you  would  charge  me 
with  the  cost  of  the  plates  (which  would  then  be  mine),  and  pay 
me  fifteen  per  cent,  on  the  sales.  I  say  "  charge,"  because  the 
cost  of  plates,  at  least,  will  be  returned  in  a  few  days,  and  I  need 
not,  in  this  case,  send  the  money  or  have  a  separate  bill  made 
out.  Your  arrangement  of  the  matter  will  save  trouble  to  both 
of  us. 

I  leave  all  the  details  of  publication  —  time,  manner  of  an 
nouncement,  etc.  —  to  your  judgment.  I  should  think,  however, 
that  the  15th  of  March  would  be  a  favorable  time  —  or  earlier, 
if  possible. 

I  shall  be  curious  to  know  in  what  way  the  MS.  strikes  your 
mind. 

12  UNIVERSITY  PLACE,  February  29,  1872. 

Heart  and  eyes  are  delighted.  The  proofs  are  simply  exquis 
ite,  and  the  "  Masque  "  reads  even  better  than  the  MS.,  which 
I  was  afraid  it  would  n't.  I  '11  keep  the  sheets  one  day,  to  be 
perfectly  sure  that  no  word  or  letter  is  wrong.  Then  I  '11  return 
them,  and  the  printing  may  commence. 

My  own  impression  is,  that  the  speediest  publication  will  be 
best.  But  I  leave  all  to  your  wiser  judgment.  Announce  and 
launch  as  you  think  best  :  only,  if  you  send  advance  sheets,  it 


574  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

were  prudent  to  send  to  several  papers  at  once.  My  connection 
with  the  "  Tribune  "  renders  it  impolitic  to  favor  that  paper  spe 
cially  in  this  case. 

In  writing  about  the  "  Masque,"  Mr.  Osgood  had 
also  called  the  author's  attention  to  a  passage  in  the 
"  Diversions  of  the  Echo  Club,"  then  appearing  in  the 
"  Atlantic,"  which  reads  :  "  By  the  bye,  I  wish  some 
one  would  undertake  to  write  our  literary  history,  be 
ginning,  say  about  1800,"  and  had  suggested  that 
here  was  a  subject  for  him. 

TO  J.  R.   OSGOOD. 
12  UNIVERSITY  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  March  4,  1872. 

Yours  of  yesterday  is  just  at  hand.  It  gives  me  that  rare 
pleasure  which  conies  to  an  author  when  his  performance  is  not 
only  recognized,  but  his  plans  anticipated. 

I  shall  be  most  heartily  rejoiced  if  you  can  do  anything  with 
my  "  Masque  "  in  England.  You  can  guess  better  than  I  where 
and  how  to  propose  the  matter,  and  I  leave  it  entirely  in  your 
hands.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  "  Masque "  expresses  what 
thousands  of  the  best  people  already  feel,  and  what  (as  you  say) 
all  must  finally  come  to.  I  wrote  it  in  such  a  heat  and  exaltation 
of  spirit  as  I  never  felt  before  in  my  life,  and  the  same  feeling 
urges  me  to  give  it  to  the  world  immediately,  and  bide  the  conse 
quences.  There  are  a  great  many  in  England  who  will  under 
stand  and,  I  sincerely  trust,  welcome  it.  Your  opinion  is  the 
first  I  have  received  (except  my  wife's),  and  it  gives  me  great 
cheer. 

I  mean  to  telegraph  to  you  at  once,  to  catch  "Wednesday's 
mail  to  England. 

As  to  the  "  History  of  American  Literature,"  rem  acu  tetigisti  I 
I  have  been  seriously  thinking  of  it,  from  time  to  time,  as  some 
thing  to  be  done  in  the  future,  when  I  shall  have  money  enough 
to  have  leisure  enough.  It  ought  not  to  be  dry  and  encyclopae 
dic,  —  not  merely  dates  and  names,  —  but  a  live  work,  full  of 
blood  and  breath.  I  am  not  able,  and  really  not  prepared,  to 
undertake  it  now  :  but  the  plan  will  keep.  In  the  mean  time,  if 
it  should  be  undertaken  by  some  competent  hand,  I  shall  be  sat 
isfied.  We  can  talk  over  the  matter  more  in  detail  when  you 
come  on. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS.  575 

Perhaps  the  "  Fortnightly "  or  some  other  magazine  might 
take  the  "  Masque,"  and  pay  for  it.  Of  course  I  should  prefer 
to  get  something,  but  the  main  thing  is  to  have  it  appear  in  Eng 
land.  Do  this,  and  I  shall  be  ever  grateful. 

TO  T.   B.   ALDRICH, 

NEW  YORK,  March  5,  1872. 

.  .  .  Not  a  soul  here  has  read  the  "  Masque  "  except  my  wife. 
Your  letter  (and  Osgood's  yesterday)  gives  me  the  first  note  of 
approval,  and  warms  the  inmost  cockles  of  my  heart.  I  '11  tell 
you  what  I  chiefly  meant.  The  gradual  development  of  man's 
conception  of  God  :  first,  a  colossal  reflection  of  human  powers 
and  passions,  mixed  with  the  dread  inspired  by  the  unknown 
forces  of  nature  ;  then,  the  idea  of  Law  (Elohim),  of  Order  and 
Beauty  and  Achievement  (love  and  Apollo),  and  of  the  princi 
ples  of  Good  and  Evil  (Persian),  and  of  the  Divine  Love 
(Christ). 

But  over  all  is  the  ONE  supreme  Spirit,  yet  unnamed,  and 
whom  men  only  now  begin  to  conceive  of,  —  the  God  of  whom 
all  previous  gods  gave  only  faint  and  various  reflections,  —  to 
whom  Christ  is  still  nearest,  but  who  was  also  felt,  more  or  less 
dimly,  in  all  creeds.  The  poem  is  not  unchristian  at  all,  but,  in 
its  relation  to  the  conventional  orthodox  idea,  overchristian.  I 
don't  doubt  that  you  have  interpreted  it  correctly. 

Thanks,  dear  old  fellow,  for  your  generous  interest  in  what  I 
do.  I  know  your  constancy  and  honesty,  and  fully  depend  on 
both,  now  and  always,  in  matters  like  the  present.  I  can't  guess 
in  advance  what  fate  the  poem  will  have,  but  it  possessed  me 
with  the  force  of  seven  demons  while  I  was  writing  it,  and  it 
must  be  published,  and  must  be  welcomed  and  abused. 

The  writing  of  a  new  poem  so  different  in  its  plane 
from  his  previous  poetry  led  Bayard  Taylor  to  review 
what  he  had  written  and  published  hitherto,  with  a  view 
to  a  possible  selection,  rearrangement,  and  reissue  ;  a 
plan,  however,  which  was  not  carried  out  this  year. 
He  had  also  collected,  at  Mr.  Putnam's  request,  a 
number  of  his  short  stories,  and  a  volume  was  pub 
lished  at  this  time  under  the  title,  "  Beauty  and  the 

VOL.  II.  11 


576  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Beast,  and  Tales  of  Home."  He  had  gone  back 
with  his  family  to  Cedarcroft,  and  having  decided,  in 
any  event,  to  go  to  Germany  in  the  summer,  found 
abundance  to  do  in  making  arrangements  for  the  man 
agement  of  his  place,  and  in  putting  his  affairs  and 
house  in  order.  He  had  left  his  friend,  Mr.  McEntee, 
in  New  York,  just  recovering  from  a  dangerous  illness. 

TO  JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  21,  1872. 

I  have  given  you  the  benefit  of  a  week's  increase  of  strength 
before  writing,  for  I  am  sure  you  must  be  stronger  and  heartier 
by  this  time.  I  hope  this  unprecedented,  incessant  cold  is  kept 
out  of  your  rooms.  Here  the  northwest  wind  has  been  blowing 
a  hurricane  for  two  days.  This  morning  the  mercury  was  down 
to  10°,  the  country  is  as  dead  wintry  as  it  can  be,  and  spring 
seems  months  off.  Don't  think  of  going  to  Rondout  until  the 
season  turns,  —  if  it  ever  does  ! 

All  of  us,  as  you  know  by  this  time,  have  been  very  anxious 
about  you  ;  but  I  am  glad  to  say  that  7  never  lost  my  faith  in 
your  recovery,  for  the  same  reason  that  I  believed  in  my  own 
when  lying  so  low  in  Italy.  I  have  faith  in  your  powers,  and 
know  that  they  have  not  yet  borne  their  ripest  fruit ;  it  is  there 
fore  necessary  for  you  to  live.  I  shall  be  much  surprised  if  you 
do  not  have  my  own  experience  in  another  form,  —  modified,  of 
course,  by  the  difference  of  the  art.  Let  me  tell  you  what  I  think 
it  will  be.  First,  you  will  imagine  yourself  entirely  restored  some 
five  or  six  months  before  you  are  actually  so.  You  will  feel  the 
impulse  and  the  need  to  paint,  and  what  you  paint  will  seem  re 
markably  good  at  the  time  ;  but  you  may  discover,  afterwards, 
that  there  is  a  languor  and  a  lack  of  vigor  in  it.  By  next  fall, 
however,  you  will  find  that  your  mind  has  become  singularly  free 
and  active  ;  some  sort  of  intangible  inclosure  which  limited  its 
action  will  be  broken  down.  You  will  easily  grasp  conceptions 
which  you  have  been  accustomed  heretofore  to  hold  with  a  strong 
effort,  and  new  ones  will  come  to  you  without  seeking  for  them. 
That  will  be  the  beginning  of  a  new  life  much  more  satisfactory 
than  the  old.  I  am  convinced  that  a  serious  illness,  at  your 
age,  to  a  man  who  uses  the  finer  qualities  of  his  brain  is  always 
an  intellectual  as  well  as  a  physical  crisis.  The  change  is  not  im- 


THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.  577 

mediately  felt,  for  one's  tastes  and  desires  always  recover  first, 
and  the  power  follows  a  long  way  behind.  If  this  should  be  all 
fancy  on  my  part,  let  it  gj>  for  such;  only,  wait  six  or  eight  months 
before  you  decide. 

I  have  been  busy  collecting  the  scattered  poems  of  the  last  ten 
years,  examining  and  arranging  them  with  a  view  to  bringing  out 
a  volume  in  the  fall.  There  are  enough  to  make  two  hundred 
pages,  even  after  omitting  some  that  are  poor.  My  "  Masque  of 
the  Gods  "  will  either  make  or  break  me,  but  I  am  not  the  least 
bit  nervous  about  it. 

.  .  .  Now,  I  did  n't  mean  when  I  began  this  letter  to  introduce 
any  but  agreeable  themes,  but  I  am  so  accustomed  to  giving  my 
mind  a  loose  rein  in  writing  to  you  that  she  (or  he  or  it)  bolted 
off  on  one  side  before  I  knew  it.  The  fact  is,  the  weather  is  so 
severe  that  we  hardly  stir  out  of  doors.  We  hope  from  day  to 
day,  but  in  vain,  for  milder  suns,  and  I  am  conscious  of  a  slow 
resentment  against  the  season. 

M.  packs  up  a  little  every  day;  L.  says  her  Latin  lessons  to  me 
and  reads  her  "  Family  Shakespeare  ; "  my  mother  mends  and 
darns,  and  my  father  studies  the  "  Tribune  "  as  if  it  were  a  com 
mentary  on  the  Bible.  So  we  wait  in  our  isolation,  regretting 
the  better  life  we  left  behind  in  New  York.  You  see  there  is 
nothing  to  write  about.  I  am  lazy,  and  my  conscience  does  not 
reproach  me  for  it.  If  you  knew  how  very  indolent  I  am  by  na 
ture  you  would  have  more  faith  in  the  something-or-other  which 
makes  me  work.  I  am  not  credited  with  much  of  a  moral  sense, 
yet  I  think  my  industry,  under  the  circumstances,  is  almost  a 
moral  quality,  for  it  has  been  very  difficult  to  acquire.  I  inherit 
laziness  from  every  generation  of  my  father's  line,  and  there  is 
hardly  a  day  of  my  life  when  I  am  not  obliged  to  take  myself  by 
the  collar  and  say,  "  Sit  down  to  work,  you  idle  devil  !  " 

Don't  think  of  answering  this.  Perhaps  G.  will  write  just  one 
line  to  say  how  you  are.  I  '11  write  again  soon. 

TO   PAUL   H.   HAYNE. 

KEXNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  25,  1872. 

Your  welcome  volume  only  reached  me  a  fortnight  ago  when 
I  was  on  the  eve  of  leaving  New  York,  where  we  have  been  dur 
ing  the  winter.  I  take  the  first  chance  now  of  acknowledging 
the  receipt,  and  thanking  you  for  kindly  remembering  me  in  this 
way. 


578  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  think  this  much  the  best  volume  you  have  published.  The 
poems  show  a  finer  finish,  a  greater  symmetry,  both  of  form  and 
idea,  than  your  earlier  ones.  I  am  very^glad  to  see  this,  because 
it  confirms  my  impression  that  you  recognize  the  true  nature  of 
the  poetic  art,  which,  indeed,  is  that  of  all  art— proportion.  Some 
of  our  authors,  who  are  quite  popular,  —  in  the  sense  of  sale,  at 
least,  —  seem  to  have  no  comprehension  of  this  truth.  I  saw  and 
valued  the  same  quality  in  poor  Timrod.  It  was  evident  in  your 
former  volumes,  but  they  show  less  patient  elaboration  than  this 
last.  I  speak  freely  on  this  point,  because  it  is  only  within  the 
last  four  or  five  years  that  I  have  been  able  to  perceive  my  own 
shortcomings  in  poetry,  and  have  set  myself  seriously  to  work 
to  remedy  them. 

I  have  seen  two  or  three  very  favorable  reviews  of  your  poems 
already,  and  am  sure  that  all  honest  critics  must  pronounce  the 
same  judgment. 

If  you  see  the  "  Atlantic,"  you  may  find  some  amusement  in 
some  papers  of  mine  published  anonymously,  —  the  "  Diversions 
of  the  Echo  Club."  They  were  written  rather  as  a  pastime,  but 
I  have  tried  to  give  a  few  earnest  hints  in  regard  to  certain  as 
pects  of  our  popular  literature  just  at  this  time. 

I  have  also  a  new  poem  in  the  press,  —  "  The  Masque  of  the 
Gods,"  —  a  copy  of  which  I  shall  be  able  to  send  you  in  a  fort 
night.  It  is  something  "new  and  strange,"  and  may  make  a 
"  sea-change  "  with  me,  so  far  as  the  critics  are  concerned.  I  an 
ticipate  as  much  blame  as  praise,  and  am  most  comfortably  indif 
ferent  ;  but  the  opinions  of  poets,  and  poets  only,  have  a  true 
value. 

TO   MRS.    JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  25,  1872. 

Your  letter,  though  so  welcome,  was  a  sore  disappointment  to 
us.  I  hold  firmly  to  my  original  faith,  and  Jervis  must  have  ad 
ditional  patience  ;  but  we  shall  have  spring  yet,  and  then  sum 
mer.  The  fact  of  his  feeling  so  much  better  already  is  a  good 
sign.  I  should  be  more  anxious  if  such  secondary  attacks  were 
not  very  common  in  pneumonia.  If  he  is  careful  of  his  lungs 
for  three  or  four  months  he  will  then  be  beyond  the  tendency  to 
any  chronic  weakness  in  them.  He  may  play  with  his  colors  as 
much  as  he  pleases,  but  must  not  really  work  before  next  fall ; 
also,  don't  let  him  take  much  exercise  for  a  long  while  after  he 


THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.  579 

wants  to  and  seems  strong  as  ever.  Six  months  after  I  was  up 
and  about  in  Italy  I  tried  to  do  a  little  up-hill  *  walking  among 
the  Alps.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  I  gasped  for  breath,  and  came 
near  having  some  sort  of  convulsions.  M.  was  quite  fresh  when 
I  felt  half  dead.  It  is  humiliating  to  us  big  animals,  but  it  can't 
be  helped.  Really,  the  season  is  almost  unendurable.  On  Sat 
urday  I  felt  the  grippe  of  a  fierce  influenza  in  head  and  bones.  I 
took  eight  grains  of  quinine  and  a  hot  Scotch  whiskey  punch  on 
going  to  bed,  and  knocked  the  ugly  thing  on  the  head,  so  that  it 
has  shown  no  signs  since.  (But  don't  tell  your  homoeopathic  doc 
tors  about  the  quinine  !)  .  .  .  We  had  our  first  cuke  to-day  at  din 
ner,  and  a  few  slices  made  me  feel  as  fresh  as  Nebuchadnezzar. 
(Do  you  know,  the  idea  of  going  out  to  grass  was  always  pleas 
ant  to  me  !)  My  mother  has  just  returned  home,  having  bought  a 
small  cook-stove  at  auction  for  seven  dollars,  and  is  supremely 
happy;  so  we  manage  to  extract  some  sort  of  comfort  out  of  this 
dark,  gusty  day,  with  a  strong  south  wind  and  congested  sky.  In 
fact,  the  firmament  needs  a  good  rainy  sweat,  and  then  it  will  feel 
better.  Nature  has  her  troubles  and  disorders  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  us  ;  but  I  hope  Jervis  does  n't  catch  or  reflect  any  of  her  con 
dition  to-day.  There  will  be  rain  to-night,  I  hope,  to  soften  the 
deep,  persistent  frost.  Don't  you  know  that  slow  moaning  and 
crying  of  the  wind,  as  if  something  ached  ?  I  hear  it  all  the 
time  as  I  write.  When  it  sounds  that  way  I  can't  work.  I  long 
for  friends  ;  I  think  of  the  blue  Mediterranean  ;  I  want  to  be  an 
angel,  and  with  the  angels  stand,  —  or  anything  else  to  keep  me 
from  sympathizing  with  all  out-of-doors,  and  being  as  miserable 
as  it  seems  to  be.  So  I  write  immediately,  though  I  have  really 
so  little  to  say.  All  I  could  say  to  you  two  would  be  only  the 
most  commonplace  didactics,  —  which  I  won't  say,  there  !  You 
know  that  our  thoughts  and  closest  sympathies  are  with  you,  not 
only  while  this  trial  lasts,  but  always  ;  and  there  's  some  stubborn 
old  Anglo-Saxon  element  in  me  which  keeps  me  from  being  de 
monstrative  of  my  feelings,  even  when  I  wish  to  be  so.  (Jervis 
knows  exactly  what  I  mean.)  However,  I  guess  a  few  friends 
know  that  the  thing  is  there,  and  that 's  enough.  Now,  if  I  have 
kept  myself  from  listening  to  all  that  outside  whimpering  of  Na 
ture,  and  diverted  the  minds  of  you  two  for  a  few  minutes  by 
this  reckless  chatter,  it  is  about  all  I  set  out  to  do. 


580  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  25,  1872. 

I  send  to-day,  per  Adams's  Express,  the  collection  of  my 
poems  since  1862,  omitting  all  that  seemed  to  me  imperfect,  or 
without  some  distinct  poetical  character.  You  will  see  that  I 
have  taken  the  "  Pastorals  "  to  give  title  and  character  to  the 
volume  :  with  the  addition  of  the  "  Proem  "  and  "  Envoi,"  they 
really  make  one  poem.  The  "  Ballads,"  and  many  of  the  other 
poems  will  be  new  to  you,  and  I  think  you  will  find  that  this  vol 
ume  contains  a  very  different  kind  of  poetry  from  that  in  "  The 
Poet's  Journal,"  the  collection  published  in  1862.  Indeed,  the 
difference  is  so  marked,  and  (as  it  seems  to  me)  so  unusual,  that 
I  desire  more  than  ever  to  have  this  volume  published  sepa 
rately.  If  the  material  were  added  to  the  blue-and-gold  simply 
to  make  a  completed  edition  of  all  my  poetry,  the  change  would 
receive  little  notice.  I  think  T.  B.  A.  would  take  the  same  view 
of  the  material. 

I  am  satisfied  that  it  would  be  best  not  to  reprint  the  "  Echo 
Club  "  now.  I  cannot  help  giving  some  slight  offense  here  and 
there,  and  this  would  be  aggravated,  in  the  opinion  of  the  of- 
fendees  (not  effendis  /),  if  the  articles  were  reproduced  in  a  vol 
ume.  Besides,  they  have  an  ephemeral  character.  .  .  .  Don't 
forget  to  send  me  about  twenty-five  copies  of  the  "  Masque  "  as 
soon  as  bound.  I  hope  you  '11  have  it  at  the  Trade  Sale,  and 
also  publish  punctually  on  the  6th.  Please  let  me  know  what 
Triibner  writes  :  you  ought  to  hear  from  him  in  a  week.  The 
last  numbers  of  "  Frazer's  "  and  the  "  Westminster  "  satisfy  me 
that  a  large  class  of  readers  in  England  is  ready  for  such  a 
poem,  and  I  am  very  anxious  to  hear  that  it  will  be  published. 

TO   MR.    AND   MRS.    JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  28,  1872. 

The  last  letter  was  so  consoling  to  us  that  I  have  waited 
another  day  to  see  if  we  shall  retain  this  heavenly  weather. 
It  is  so  warm  and  sweet  that  I  'm  sure  you  must  feel  it  through 
the  walls  of  the  Studio  Building.  There  have  now  been  two 
days  of  it,  with  a  third  (from  the  omens)  secured  in  advance. 
We  already  see  changes  in  maples  and  willows  and  grass,  and 
this  morning  I  found  the  first  scented  white  violet  out,  under  a 
protecting  box-border. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS.      581 

...  I  forgot  to  answer  your  question  about  the  house.  No, 
it  is  not  rented,  and  I  am  beginning  to  fear  it  will  not  be.  I 
have  no  luck  in  money  matters  ;  I  never  hit  the  fortunate  sea 
son  hi  any  such  dealings.  What  I  possess  is  the  result  of  hard, 
incessant  work.  Many  another  would  have  been  luxuriously 
rich  by  this  time  from  the  use  of  my  personal  earnings.  The 
agent  in  Philadelphia  says  there  ought  to  be  no  difficulty  in 
finding  a  summer  occupant ;  but  we  ought  to  hear  of  it  now. 
However,  I  '11  not  give  up  the  hope  for  another  fortnight.  Peo 
ple  are  hardly  thinking  of  summer  yet. 

I  have  only  two  bits  of  news.  We  have  just  consumed  an 
immense  fresh  cauliflower,  sent  from  San  Francisco  by  a  friend. 
Secondly  (entre  nous)  I  have  written  a  Node  for  the  Shake 
speare  statue  celebration,  April  23d,  to  be  used  in  case  nothing 
better  can  be  procured.  I  'm  hardly  satisfied  with  my  work,  and 
have  only  done  it  with  the  above  proviso.  Lowell  would  be  the 
proper  man. 

.  .  .  We  drove  to  the  village  this  afternoon,  through  fearful 
mud,  and  the  laziness  of  spring  is  now  in  all  my  bones.  I  have 
an  idea  that  a  storm  is  brewing  about  a  thousand  miles  off  ;  the 
depression  which  precedes  it  is  upon  me.  Or  is  it  a  remnant 
of  the  squelched  influenza  ?  Perhaps  you  know  that  peculiar 
feeling,  which  I  once  saw  accurately  described  in  an  old  news 
paper,  "  The  nerves  fall  into  the  pizarintum,  the  chest  becomes 
morberous,  the  diaphragm  is  catichose,  and  the  head  goes  tiza- 
rizen  I  tizarizen  I "  I  hear  the  locomotive  whistle  ;  it  is  twenty 
minutes  past  nine.  This  is  quite  late  for  us  :  we  are  generally 
in  bed  by  this  time  ;  but  we  get  up  when  we  see  the  broad  yel 
low  splash  of  sunrise  on  the  wall.  I  have  been  sorting  letters 
all  day,  and  find  lots  signed  "  J.  McE."  Some  day,  when  I 
write  my  "  Yesterdays  with  Artists,"  I  shall  publish  them.  It 
gives  one  a  singular  feeling  to  rake  up  the  past  so  completely  ; 
I  can  see  very  plainly  that  I  must  have  been  more  shallow  and 
sensitive  and  conceited  ten  years  ago  than  I  had  any  idea  of  at 
the  time.  There  is  evidence  in  the  correspondence  (not  with 
Jervis)  that  I  let  myself  be  annoyed  with  all  sorts  of  trifles, 
which  I  should  laugh  at  now.  The  other  day  I  looked  into  a 
volume  of  my  travels,  published  in  1859.  Ye  Gods  !  what  a 
flippant  style  !  I  assure  you  some  things  made  me  wince,  with 
a  feeling  almost  like  physical  pain. 

M.  has  just  come  down-stairs  to  see  whether  I  am  going  to 


582  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

stay  up  abnormally  late,  or,  perhaps,  fearing  that  a  burglar  may 
break  in  upon  me,  sitting  here  alone  in  the  library.  The  wood- 
fire  on  the  hearth  has  gone  out,  and  I  must  even  close,  with  her 
love  and  mine.  .  .  . 

TO   T.    B.   ALDRICH. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  March  30,  1872. 

I  suggested  to  Osgood,  in  sending  him  the  material  of  a  new 
volume  of  poems,  that  perhaps  you  might  be  able  to  look  over 
them,  and  give  both  him  and  me  the  advantage  of  your  impres 
sions.  The  main  point  is  this  :  Osgood  proposed  to  bring  out  a 
new  collected  edition  of  poems  in  the  fall,  adding  these,  which 
are  the  waifs  of  ten  years  (since  "  The  Poet's  Journal  "  in  1862). 
This  plan  he  seemed  to  like  better  than  that  of  bringing  the  lat 
ter  out  in  a  separate  volume  of  about  two  hundred  pages.  But 
the  collected  edition  to  be  complete  must  include  "  St.  John  "  and 
the  "  Masque,"  which  would  make  two  volumes  instead  of  one  ; 
and  I  don't  believe  that  I  have  popularity  enough  as  a  poet  to 
carry  that  much  weight. 

Moreover,  in  collecting  and  arranging  these  last  poems  (from 
which  several  have  been  omitted,  owing  to  lack  of  distinct  char 
acter),  it  seems  to  me  that  they  mark  a  "  new  departure  "  for 
me.  "  Canopus,"  which  I  have  placed  last,  is  the  only  one  be 
longing  to  my  old  regime  of  sensuosity  :  all  the  others  have  a 
graver  and  stronger  character.  They  exhale  quite  a  different 
atmosphere.  Whether  or  not  better  than  my  former  things,  they 
are  other.  Therefore,  /  should  prefer  to  try  what  impression 
they  may  make,  what  success  they  may  have,  unconnected  with 
my  other  poems.  The  distinctive  character  would  hardly  be  no 
ticed,  if  they  were  attached  to  the  latter.  This  is  a  point  con 
cerning  which  I  'd  like  to  have  your  frankest  opinion.  You  know 
I  'm  not  nearly  so  sensitive  now  as  I  was  ten  years  ago. 

.  .  .  We  have  at  last  some  hope  of  spring.  I  found  a  fra 
grant  white  violet  in  blossom  yesterday.  M.  is  busy  with  a 
sempstress,  and  L.  is  working  at  Ovid  ("  Philemon  and  Baucis  "). 
We  have  not  yet  rented  the  house,  but  are,  nevertheless,  prepar 
ing  to  sail  in  June.  I  am  languid  and  lazy,  partly  from  the 
warm  air  and  partly  the  reaction  from  my  late  poetical  spell. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS.      583 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  5,  1872. 

Your  letter  is  a  genuine  cheer  and  comfort.  I  am  very  glad 
to  find  that  I  can  look  at  my  work  with  some  degree  of  objec 
tive  criticism.  What  you  recommend  is  precisely  my  own  wish 
and  plan.  I  am  afraid  to  anticipate  much  success  for  the 
"  Masque,"  there  is  so  little  dependence  on  the  whims  of  the 
American -public.  But  the  conception  of  the  work  is  both  new 
and  important,  and  I  am  sure  that  its  construction  is  tolerably 
up  to  the  mark  ;  so  it  ought  to  have  some  recognition.  I  hope 
Osgood  will  give  it  a  fair  chance  in  the  matter  of  announcement 
and  publication.  If  it  falls  flat  of  course  the  poems  could  not 
be  published  now,  or  very  soon  ;  but  if  the  auspices  are  good,  I 
think  the  opportunity  should  be  used.  In  any  case  I  am  resolved 
that  they  shall  appear  (whenever  they  do)  separately.  The 
"  Pastorals  "  are  sufficient  to  give  a  special  character  to  the  col 
lection. 

TO  JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  7,  1872. 

This  misty,  rainy  Sunday  evening  I  must  write  at  least  a  few 
lines  to  say  how  glad  we  are  to  hear  that  you  have  at  last  got 
into  your  broad-bottomed  chair  in  the  studio.  The  news  came 

yesterday  in 's  letter  to  L.  after  we  had  begun  to  feel  quite 

uneasy  on  account  of  less  favorable  reports  in  a  note  from  S. 
But  I  know  that  you  could  n't  get  down  into  the  studio  without 
strength  enough  to  get  better  still ;  and,  moreover,  the  fear 
fully  trying  season  must  be  over  now.  Winter,  and  trouble,  and 
pain,  and  discouragement,  and  all  other  misfortunes,  can't  endure 
forever  ;  the  most  unpropitious  fate  gets  tired  of  following  men  ; 
in  short,  there  's  no  lane  but  has  a  turning.  I  have  half  a  self 
ish  interest  in  trying  to  encourage  you,  because  I  always  encour 
age  myself  in  doing  so.  One  who  is  naturally  impatient  (and  I 
should  n't  wonder  if  both  of  us  were  !)  needs  to  go  over  his  les 
son  as  regularly  as  the  Lord's  Prayer  ;  in  fact,  to  make  a  sort  of 
philosophical  litany  for  himself,  which  one  part  of  his  nature 
must  read  and  the  other  respond  to.  As  thus  :  — 

From  all  sensation  and  clap-trap  : 

Preserve  me,  my  soul. 

From  doing  hasty  work  for  money : 

Preserve  me,  my  soul. 

From  satisfaction  with  ephemeral  notoriety,  etc.,  etc. 

Last  night  Osgood  sent  me  three  letters  from  London,  about 


584  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

my  "Masque."  One  publisher  says  it  is  "  too  good  "  (!)  for  the 
public  ;  another  fears  that  it  "  will  not  be  acceptable  ; "  but 
Triibner,  who  seems  very  much  impressed  by  it,  says  he  will  do 
his  best  to  get  it  printed.  Judging  by  these  signs,  a  few  people 
are  going  to  like  the  poem  greatly,  and  many  will  denounce  it. 
I  rather  expect  much  abuse  and  misrepresentation  in  this  coun 
try,  but  we  shall  soon  see  ;  it  will  be  published  on  Wednesday. 
The  fate  of  another  (new)  volume  of  poems  depends  on  it,  so 
that  a  failure  in  England  may  be  a  double  one  for  me.  But  I 
feel  quite  easy  about  the  matter,  willing  to  bide  my  time  ;  yes, 
really  willing  now,  and  simply  because  I  feel,  at  last,  that  I  have 
some  qualities  which  are  my  own,  not  simulated  or  borrowed. 

But  enough  of  this  egotism.  We  are  in  a  misty  state  in-doors 
as  well  as  out.  The  house  is  not  rented  yet,  and  no  certain  pros 
pect  of  it.  The  old  order  of  life  here  is  dissolving  into  a  blur  of 
color,  and  we  don't  yet  see  the  new  picture.  I  am  sure  it  will 
come  after  a  while,  —  if  not  so  bright  as  we  hope,  still  I  shall  be 
satisfied  while  I  have  wife,  child,  health,  and  courage  as  now. 
If  I  only  had  more  power  of  disposing  of  the  little  businesses  of 
life  !  Holmes,  in  his  last  paper,  has  a  capital  plea  for  poets, 
claiming  that  they  are  as  much  entitled  as  artists  to  shirk  en 
counters  with  the  material  aspects  of  life.  So  they  are  ;  and 
I  'd  rather  work  hard  for  months,  than  have  to  do  with  a  real 
estate  agent,  contracts  for  rent,  catalogues  of  furniture,  repairs, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  miserable  bother  !  If  I  ever  get  this 
place  off  my  hands  I  shall  be  afraid  to  own  any  more  real  estate, 
unless  it 's  something  so  small,  simple,  and  conveniently  situated, 
that  it  will  be  always  marketable. 

The  country  is  dismally  brown  and  dreary  ;  we  are  about  sick 
for  a  little  green  on  the  meadows  and  willows.  As  in  "  Christa- 
bel,"  "  The  spring  comes  slowly  up  this  way."  Would  this  were  a 
gayer  epistle  ;  but  it 's  already  as  much  as  you  ought  to  read  at 
once.  So,  good-by,  with  love  from  all  of  us  to  both  of  you  ! 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  19, 1872. 

I  've  only  time  to  write  a  line,  since  my  "  Masque  "  goes  to  you 
by  this  morning's  mail.  I  shall  be  very  much  interested  in  learn 
ing  what  impression  it  makes  on  you  and  G. 

Singularly  enough,  all  our  uncertainties  were  solved  within 
three  days.  I  sold  a  tract  of  sixteen  acres,  cut  off  by  a  road, 
and  of  no  immediate  use,  which  I  had  been  vainly  offering  for 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS.      585 

sale  for  three  years  past ;  I  received  the  best  April  dividend 
from  the  "  Tribune  "  we  have  had  since  '68  ;  and  I  rented  the 
house  for  three  years.  Now  I  have  only  to  sell  the  carriage  and 
horses,  and  then  everything  will  be  arranged. 

The  Lord  be  praised  !  We  can  now  prepare  to  start,  with 
funds  enough  for  nearly  a  year,  all  business  in  order,  provision 
made  for  some  necessary  payments  during  our  absence,  and  no 
further  necessity  for  that  headlong  work  and  anxiety  which 
nearly  killed  me  the  last  time.  Well,  I  have  had  so  much  and 
such  various  bad  luck  for  three  years  past  that  I  take  this  as  a 
rightful  balance  on  the  credit  side  of  the  books.  Nearly  all  the 
secret  of  life  is  in  being  able  to  wait,  after  all. 

Let  me  know  how  you  are  feeling  up  in  your  belated  spring. 
We  have  at  last  hyacinths  and  early  wood-flowers. 

Fortune's  smile  proved  to  be  an  April  one,  but  it 
was  pleasant  to  be  in  the  sunshine  if  only  a  few  days. 
The  congratulations  of  his  friends  also  began  to  reach 
him  when  the  "  Masque  "  was  published.  Again  Mr. 
Longfellow  was  one  of  the  first  to  give  him  a  poet's 
greeting,  and  Mr.  Whittier  hastened  with  his  con 
gratulations. 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW  TO  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

»  CAMBRIDGE,  .April  19,  1872. 

I  congratulate  you  on  your  new  poem.  It  is  a  lofty  theme, 
and  you  have  treated  it  in  a  lofty  manner,  and  in  a  style  solemn 
and  impressive.  You  may  safely  write  under  it,  Fecit,  fecit,  the 
double  mark  of  Titian. 

To  the  common  and  careless  reader  it  may  at  first  be  some 
thing  of  a  puzzle  ;  but  no  one  can  read  it  through  without  see 
ing  your  noble  aim  and  meaning.  I  am  delighted  to  see  you 
taking  so  high  a  flight,  and  heartily  say  God  speed  ! 

BAYARD  TAYLOR   TO  JOHN  G.   WHITTIER. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  April  24,  1872. 

Your  kind  note  of  congratulation  was  a  most  unexpected  de 
light  to  me.  My  little  poem  has  a  very  ambitious  air,  I  know, 
and  it  is  a  flight  where,  if  the  wings  are  not  strong  enough,  one 
falls  all  the  way  down.  It  is  a  great  encouragement  to  me  that 
you  see  signs  of  a  "  sure  hand  "  in  it. 


586  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  do  hope  you  will  not  find  the  spirit  of  the  poem  irreverent. 
I  know  that  I  wrote  it  with  a  feeling  of  the  deepest  reverence 
for  the  awful,  wonderful  Deity,  whom,  it  seems  to  me,  the  race 
is  only  now  beginning  to  recognize.  In  regard  to  details,  of 
course,  there  will  be  differences  of  views  and  feelings.  But  I 
never  could  feel  that  the  older  Hebrew  Elohim  was  the  same 
conception  of  God  as  the  Jehovah  of  the  Psalms  ;  and  I  never 
could  feel  either  that  the  aesthetic  part  of  the  Greek  faith  could 
possibly  conflict  with  Christianity.  I  mention  these  two  points 
because  I  expect  to  see  them  picked  out  for  attack.  .  .  . 

Longfellow  has  also  written  me  a  delightful  letter  about  the 
"  Masque."  I  am  very  grateful  for  this  immediate  and  generous 
recognition  from  both  of  you,  and  shall  try  hard  to  deserve  it  by 
doing  better  work  henceforth.  You  have  already  armed  me  with 
new  patience,  and  inspired  me  with  new  hope.  In  this  isolation 
such  greetings  have  a  double  value. 

I  may  be  in  Boston  for  a  day,  towards  the  end  of  May.  If  so, 
I  hope  we  shall  meet  ;  but  in  any  case,  I  want  you  to  believe 
that  my  old  affection  cannot  change  by  time  or  absence. 

TO   JERVIS   McENTEE. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  May  1,  1872. 

I  got  your  letter  and  G.'s  (most  welcome  they  were  !),  and 
noticed  the  invitation  ; J  but  inasmuch  as  I  had  already  written 
to  you  that  we  were  to  sail  June  13th,  and  was  over  head  and 
ears  in  the  worry  of  settling  all  sorts  of  minor  business,  I  did" 
not  think  it  necessary  to  write  immediately  ;  since  it  would  be 
simply  impossible  to  be  at  Tufts  College  on  the  20th  of  June. 

We  have  since  changed  our  date  of  sailing  to  June  6th,  in 
order  to  go  with  our  good  old  Captain  Schwensen.  And  now,  to 
be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  although  I  meant  the  date  of  sailing 
to  be  sufficient  reason  for  declining  the  invitation,  I  will  say  that 
I  am  firmly  resolved  never  again  to  write,  or  to  attempt  to  write, 
a  poem  for  an  occasion.  I  have  resisted*at  least  a  hundred  ap 
plications  in  the  last  fifteen  years.  This  spring,  I  yielded  :  let  me 
tell  you  the  result.  came  to  see  me  twice,  just  before  leav 
ing  New  York,  about  writing  an  Ode  for  the  dedication  of 
Ward's  Shakespeare  Statue  in  the  Central  Park,  and  would  take 
no  denial.  Lowell  had  declined  ;  Literature  must  be  represented 
by  somebody,  and  their  only  hope  was  in  me.  I  finally  promised 
1  To  deliver  a  poem  at  Tufts  College  Commencement. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS.      587 

to  consider  the  matter,  and  after  reaching  home,  here,  did  write 

an  ode,  of  over  one  hundred  lines,  which  I  sent  to .  After 

waiting  ten  days  for  an  answer,  I  wrote  to  him  again  :  waited  a 
second  ten  days,  —  in  vain  :  then  wrote  a  brief  note,  demanding 
to  have  the  MS.  sent  back  to  me.  Then  it  came,  with  the  most 

insuiferably  snobbish  letter  from  which  you  ever  read. 

"  Some  things  "  in  the  Ode  were  "  felicitous  ; "  I  "  might  have 
done  better  in  another  metre  ; "  still,  when  I  had  "  worked 
over "  certain  parts,  and  they  had  "  received  their  final  form," 
he  "  did  not  doubt  but  that  it  would  be  worthy  of  me."  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  such  damnable  impertinence  ? 

Won't  you,  or  G.,  simply  reply  for  me  to  Tufts,  giving  the 
time  as  sufficient  reason  for  declining?  My  brains  are  worn 
down  to  the  stump  :  I  pray  only  for  rest  and  recreation,  and, 
really,  I  would  n't  write  a  poem,  now,  at  the  request  of  the  Arch 
angel  Gabriel. 

.  .  .  I  'm  greatly  cheered  about  the  "  Masque."  Longfellow 
and  Whittier  have  sent  me  the  most  delightful  letters  of  con 
gratulation,  and  the  newspaper  notices  have  been  pure  glorifica 
tions,  so  far.  It  pleased  me  specially  that  the  poem  suggested 
landscapes  to  you  and  a  symphony  to  G.  Here  I  must  close  ;  do 
write  again  soon.  We  '11  be  in  New  York  in  a  fortnight  from 
to-day. 

IRVING  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  May  22,  1872. 

We  've  been  here  just  a  week,  and  I  write  a  line  to  say  that  I 
most  earnestly  hope  you  '11  be  able  to  come  down  before  we  sail, 
June  6th.  I  don't  believe  we  can  possibly  run  up  to  Rondout : 
I  've  a  horse  to  sell  (a  most  disgusting  and  demoralizing  business 
for  me),  and  no  purchaser  yet,  also  must  finish  certain  jobs  for 
the  publishers.  After  our  sudden  turn  of  good  luck,  the  Fates 
are  after  us  again  :  we  have  no  end  of  little  worries  and  weari 
nesses.  I  'm  hard  at  work,  running  my  legs  off  every  day,  and 
will  only  be  serenely  happy  when  the  steamer  is  twenty-five  feet 
from  the  Hoboken  pier,  heading  down  the  bay.  You  '11  see  my 
rejected  Ode  in  to-morrow's  "  Tribune  ; "  there  is  an  added  scor 
pion-sting  in  it,  which  I  think  you  '11  discover.  M.  joins  me  in 
love  to  G.  and  hopes,  with  me,  that  you  may  both  have  an  errand 
here. 


588  BA YARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   T.    B.   ALDRICH. 
IRVING  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  May  29,  1872. 

Thanks  for  your  kind  and  welcome  letter.  I  have  at  last  sold 
my  horse,  and  the  small  poems,  and  have,  by  good  luck,  a  suffi 
ciency  of  means  for  this  summer,  after  which  "the  Lord  will 
provide." 

What  you  say  of  the  "Masque  "  is  quite  true.  I  thought  of  an 
anonymous  at  first,  but  did  not  believe  the  secret  would  be  kept, 
and,  anticipating  attack,  believed  it  would  be  more  frank  and 
courageous  to  give  my  name  at  once.  If  this  public  won't  accept 
my  better  work,  I  must  wait  until  a  new  one  grows  up.  I  thought 
's  notice  timid  and  rather  awkward  ;  it  gave  me  the  impres 
sion  that  he  did  not  really  like  the  poem,  yet,  out  of  personal 
regard  for  me,  did  not  want  to  say  so. 

...  I  am,  however,  wholly  satisfied  with  what  the  best  men 
say.  The  letters  of  Longfellow,  Whittier,  and  Holmes,  your 
judgment,  and  Osgood's  faith  in  the  work  are  all  I  could  ask,  and 
I  say  to  myself,  "  Patience  !  the  better  time  will  come."  .  .  . 
One  thing  I  swear  to  you.  I  will  go  on  trying  to  do  intrinsically 
good  things,  and  will  not  yield  a  hair's  breadth  for  the  sake  of 
conciliating  an  ignorant  public.  If  there  is  any  virtue  in  faith, 
I  '11  try  to  deserve  that,  if  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

LARS. 

1872-1873. 

I  hold  anew  the  earliest  gift  and  dearest, — 
The  happy  Song  that  cares  not  for  its  fame  ! 

Ad  Arnicas. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  and  his  family  sailed  for  Ham 
burg  June  6, 1872.  Before  that  date  Mr.  Greeley  had 
been  nominated  for  the  presidency  by  the  Liberal  wing 
of  the  Republican  party,  and  later  by  the  Democrats. 
Bayard  Taylor  was  greatly  moved  by  the  incident. 
His  long  intimacy  with  Mr.  Greeley  had  made  him  a 
staunch  friend,  and  he  admired  in  him  the  qualities 
which  marked  him  as  an  American  of  strong  convic 
tions.  But  he  dreaded  the  impending  political  canvass 
with  its  inevitable  personal  character,  and  its  very 
doubtful  effect  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  "  Tribune,"  in 
which  was  invested  all  his  property  which  yielded  any 
income.  It  was  upon  the  dividends  that  he  relied  to 
meet  the  expenses  of  his  life  abroad ;  upon  these  and 
upon  such  incidental  work  as  he  might  do. 

He  had  not,  however,  carried  with  him  a  great  deal 
of  work,  nor  laid  his  plans  for  thus  occupying  himself 
while  absent  from  America.  He  needed  to  prepare 
the  remaining  numbers  for  the  series  of  volumes  of 
travel  which  he  had  undertaken  for  Messrs.  Scribner, 
Armstrong  &  Co.,  and  he  had  engaged  to  write  for 
Messrs.  Appleton  a  school  history  of  Germany;  this 


590  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

volume  he  was  to  have  stereotyed  and  provided  with 
illustrations  in  Leipzig,  sending  the  plates  home  to 
America,  where  they  would  be  printed.  He  could  ex 
pect  no  return  from  this  work  for  a  year  yet,  but  he 
looked  to  it  as  likely  to  yield  him  a  regular  and  con 
siderable  income. 

He  was  thus  reasonably  free  from  care.  He  had 
let  his  Cedarcroft  estate  for  three  years ;  he  had  pro 
vided  for  the  payment  of  such  liabilities  as  he  had  left 
in  America ;  he  was  in  receipt  of  a  fair  income  from 
his  investment,  and  could  add  to  it  with  little  labor ; 
he  had  even  the  hope,  not  long  after  going  abroad,  of 
selling  his  estate,  and  thus  unburdening  himself  of  his 
heaviest  load.  His  freedom  he  meant  to  devote  to 
such  rest  as  he  was  willing  to  take,  and  to  the  accumu 
lation  of  material  for  his  Goethe  and  Schiller  biogra 
phy.  He  found  himself  exceptionally  well  placed  for 
this.  His  translation  of  "  Faust  "  had  at  once  made 
him  a  marked  man  in  Germany.  Already  well  and 
favorably  known,  this  work  had  given  him  special 
claims  for  consideration.  He  entered  on  his  life, 
therefore,  with  light  heart. 

TO   HIS    MOTHER. 

HAMBURG,  June  20,  1872. 

We  reached  here  yesterday  after  a  delightful  voyage  of  twelve 
days  and  a  half  to  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe.  .  .  .  We  started  with 
the  loveliest  weather,  finding  the  ocean  so  smooth  that  everybody 
went  to  the  dinner-table.  Next  day  was  the  same.  .  .  .  We  had 
three  or  four  rainy  days,  which  were  unpleasant,  but  no  gale,  not 
even  half  a  gale,  no  rough  sea,  and  no  cold  winds.  On  Sunday, 
the  tenth  day,  we  saw  the  Scilly  Islands  about  one  P.  M.  The  day 
before  and  the  morning  had  been  rather  foggy  and  overcast,  but 
after  passing  the  islands  the  sky  cleared  and  the  sea  was  like  a 
lake.  We  reached  Plymouth  at  ten  P.  M.,  and  after  an  hour  and 
a  half  left  for  Cherbourg.  Early  Monday  morning  we  were  sail- 


LARS.  591 

ing  along  the  beautiful  coast  of  Normandy,  and  at  seven  were  at 
Cherbourg.  The  Channel  was  smooth  as  glass,  the  sky  without  a 
cloud,  and  by  dusk  we  passed  Dover.  On  Tuesday  morning  we 
found  the  North  Sea  just  as  quiet,  the  weather  just  as  lovely, 
ran  along  the  coast  all  day,  and  reached  Cuxhaven  about  mid 
night.  Yesterday  morning  we  took  a  small  steamer  and  came 
up  the  Elbe,  reaching  Hamburg  at  9.30.  H.  and  I.  were  wait 
ing  for  us  on  the  pier.  .  .  .  The  voyage  was  by  far  the  most 
agreeable  we  ever  made.  I  already  feel  myself  much  fresher  and 
stronger.  We  are  going  to  loaf  for  a  few  days,  and  I  shall  not 
write  again  until  after  we  reach  Gotha. 

TO   JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  July  3,  1872. 

Here  we  are,  at  last  !  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  nearly  a 
month  has  gone  by  since  you  and  Launt  left  us  on  the  steamer's 
deck  at  Hobokeu.  The  intervening  time  has  been  so  pleasant 
that  one  day  has  only  repeated  the  impression  left  by  the  previ 
ous  one.  We  went  out  on  the  smoothest  of  oceans  that  day,  and 
carried  calm  weather  with  us.  I  was  not  the  least  sea-sick,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  and  M.  only  for  half  a  day.  The  pas 
sengers  were  agreeable,  the  fare  and  attendance  remarkably 
good,  and  so  the  time  went  by  so  rapidly  that  the  Scilly  Islands 
seemed  only  a  short  distance  from  the  light-ship  off  Sandy 
Hook.  We  touched  at  Plymouth  on  the  evening  of  the  tenth 
day,  found  the  Channel  a  sheet  of  glass,  Normandy  and  Cher 
bourg  flooded  with  sunshine,  the  Strait  of  Dover  in  a  most  benev 
olent  and  Christian  mood,  and  the  dreaded  North  Sea  an  imita 
tion  of  the  Mediterranean.  At  Hamburg  my  brother  and  sister- 
in-law  were  waiting  for  us  on  the  quay.  We  landed  at  their 
door,  and  sat  down  to  their  table  with  much  the  same  feeling  as 
if  Ave  had  gone  from  New  York  to  dine  in  Brooklyn. 

Two  more  weeks  have  gone  since  then,  and  now  I  am  quietly 
settled  here  in  my  father-in-law's  house,  with  my  books,  papers, 
and  amateur  sketching-traps  in  his  old  library  at  the  foot  of  the 
astronomical  tower.  I  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  old  vellum 
binding,  queer  instruments,  dust,  and  astrological  mysteries,  very 
much  like  Faust  in  the  opening  scene.  Under  me  is  a  garden 
of  gooseberries,  then  the  trees  of  the  park,  a  bit  of  the  old  ducal 
castle,  and  a  good,  broad  stretch  of  sky.  Here  I  mean  to  write, 
dabble  in  colors,  smoke,  and  "  invite  my  soul "  to  whatever  sort  of 

VOL.    II.  12 


592  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

banquet  she  may  prefer.  I  tell  you,  old  fellow,  it  does  one  great 
good  to  get  away,  now  and  then,  from  the  grooves  in  which  one's 
life  must  run.  Distance  has  the  effect  of  time,  in  a  measure. 
You  walk  farther  away  from  your  canvas  in  this  great  studio  of 
the  world,  and  see  the  truer  relations  of  the  work  in  hand.  I 
have  a  smouldering  instinct  that  I  must  give  this  summer  to  phys 
ical  interests  mainly  ;  therefore,  we  still  hold  to  the  plan  of  a 
watering-place.  But  we  shall  not  go  until  some  time  in  August, 
and  thus  hope  to  hear  from  you  before  we  leave.  My  brother-in- 
law  from  Russia  is  here  with  his  family,  —  wife  and  five  children, 
—  and  the  stately  old  house  is  full  of  noises.  I  am  "  uncled  " 
from  morning  till  night.  But  there  is  one  sad  figure  in  the 
merry  family  circle.  M.'s  uncle  [Mr.  August  Bufleb],  who  trav 
eled  with  me  in  Egypt  twenty  years  ago,  and  through  whose 
friendship  I  was  first  brought  here  to  find  the  best  of  my  life's 
fortunes,  has  been  so  lamed  and  maimed,  bodily  and  mentally, 
by  paralysis,  that  he  is  almost  lost  to  us.  I  could  get  used  to 
his  helplessness,  his  half-incoherent  words  (the  tongue  being  also 
lamed)  ;  but  the  indifference  to  everything  in  which  he  once  took 
an  interest,  the  death  or  sleep  of  all  his  finer  qualities  of  mind 
and  heart,  makes  a  very  painful  impression. 

For  my  part,  my  brain  has  been  enjoying  the  brief  season  of 
rest.  Yesterday,  in  a  book-store,  I  saw,  in  a  German  literary 
periodical,  a  notice  of  my  "  Masque,"  which  the  critic  declared 
to  be  "  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  original  poems  which  has 
been  written  in  America."  I  had  not  been  expecting  any  notice 
of  the  work  here  for  a  long  while  to  come  ;  and,  of  course,  am 
all  the  better  pleased.  Sometimes  my  heart  sinks  a  little  when 
I  think  how  many  years  have  passed  before  coming  to  my  mature 
work,  and  how  few  years  of  growth  remain  ;  but,  after  all,  one 
can  only  do  his  best  with  what  he  has,  and  no  more.  The  joy  in 
doing,  thank  Heaven  !  remains  as  keen  as  ever. 

M.  joins  me  in  best  love  to  G.  and  you,  and  Vauxes  and  all  our 
friends.  Both  of  us  feel  more  clearly  than  ever  before  how 
much  we  have  left  behind,  —  how  much  that  we  cannot  expect  to 
find  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  Our  ties,  now,  have  the  light 
and  sparkle  and  strength  and  smoothness  of  ripe  old  wine,  and 
this  is  the  best  gift  the  years  bring.  Do  let  me  hear  from  you 
soon,  and  tell  me  all  your  plans  and  interests  and  labors. 


LARS.  593 


TO  A.   R.   MACDONOUGH. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  July  16,  1872. 

I  write  to  you  to-day,  not  because  you  care  to  hear  about  a 
smooth  voyage  and  all  manner  of  family  junketings  after  arrival, 
—  not  because  this  is  Germany  and  that  is  America  where  you 
are,  —  but  because  I  honestly  and  earnestly  mean  that  our  com 
panionship,  in  the  highest  and  best  sense  of  the  word,  shall  not 
only  endure,  but  become  closer  and  more  beneficent.  Since  the 
distance  of  the  ocean  has  shoved  last  winter  away,  as  if  far  back 
into  the  past,  I  have  thought  much  of  you  ;  and  my  predominant 
feeling  was  one  of  wonder,  that  we  should  have  met  for  so  many 
years  without  either  having  acquired  any  genuine  knowledge  of 
the  other.  But  perhaps  I  should  only  speak  of  myself.  I  was, 
for  a  long  time,  over  self-conscious,  and  guarded  my  aspirations 
as  jealously  as  if  they  had  been  vices  ;  hence,  I  now  see,  I  must 
have  missed  many  chances  of  discovering  kindred  qualities  in 
other  men.  I  always  recognized  the  extent  and  variety  of  your 
knowledge  :  how  was  it  that  I  did  not  see  or  suspect,  until  within 
a  year  or  two,  the  strength  and  delicacy  of  your  aesthetic  in 
stincts  ?  Just  what  I  most  value,  most  need,  in  a  friend,  —  the 
nameless,  indescribable  freemasonry  of  the  spirit  (I  won't  use  the 
colder  word  "  intellect ")  wherethrough  there  is  the  freest  giv 
ing  and  taking,  diverging  in  particulars  only  to  unite  more 
warmly  in  essentials,  —  just  this  I  must  have  missed,  God  knows 
how  !  But  now  that  I  have  found  it,  I  have  the  rare  comfort  of 
again  opening  all  my  doors,  —  or,  rather,  of  giving  you  a  pass 
key  by  which  you  can  enter  at  will.  This,  I  need  hardly  say, 
leaves  you  your  old  freedom  to  test  and  criticise.  I  shall  always 
feel  free,  so  long  as  I  recognize  in  a  friend  the  reverence  for  an 
equal  standard  of  art,  though  it  be  not  the  same  as  my  own. 

I  have  done  nothing  since  leaving  home,  except  to  read  a  few 
books  which  I  shall  need  to  consult  for  Goethe's  biography. 
But  last  week  I  went  with  my  wife  on  a  three  days'  trip  to 
Ilmenau,  Rudolstadt,  and  the  region  thereabouts,  —  classic  lo 
calities  !  At  Ilmenau  a  curious  thing  happened.  The  Oberlcell- 
ner  said  :  "  The  hotel  is  full  ;  I  must  put  you  in  Goethe's  room." 
It  was  the  room  where  Goethe  celebrated  his  last  (eighty-second) 
birthday,  in  1831  ;  and  there  I  discovered  a  new  fact  in  his  biog 
raphy.  It  is  interesting,  rather  than  important  ;  and  proves, 
among  other  things,  that  Lewes  took  more  from  Viehoff 's  "  Life 


594  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

of  Goethe  "  than  he  acknowledges.  The  next  day  we  stopped  at 
Volkstedt,  and  saw  the  room  where  Schiller  lived  in  1788,  then 
crossed  the  Saale  and  walked  to  Rudolstadt  by  the  path  he  fol 
lowed  when  he  visited  the  Lengefelds.  We  saw  also  the  Grenz- 
hammer,  a  forge  where  he  studied  the  stqffage  for  his  ballad  of 
"  Fridolin."  Unfortunately,  the  lodge  on  the  Kickelhahn,  where 
Goethe  wrote  "  Ueber  alien  Gipfeln  "  with  a  pencil  on  the  wall, 
was  burned  down  about  eighteen  months  ago.  I  have  just  dis 
covered  an  unpublished  (and  unpublishable  !)  youthful  poem  of 
Schiller,  and  mean  to  get  hold  of  Goethe's  "  Tagebuch,"  which 
was  surreptitiously  printed  in  Berlin  in  (I  think)  1867.  It  is 
said  to  be  no  worse  than  Boccaccio  or  Faublas.  I  mean  to 
put  the  two  men  back  into  their  original  flesh  and  blood  before  I 
begin  to  write  about  them. 

There  is  not  much  stirring  in  literature  now  in  Germany. 
Freytag  is  at  work,  about  two  miles  from  here,  on  a  new  ro 
mance.  I  have  not  yet  visited  him.  The  latest  sensation  seems 
to  have  been  E.  von  Hartmann's  "  Philosophic  des  Unbewussten," 
a  big  octavo  of  eight  hundred  pages,  which  has  reached  a  fourth 
edition  in  a  little  over  a  year.  ... 

TO   JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

LAUSANNE,  SWITZERLAND,  September  13,  1872. 

Your  most  welcome  letter  reached  me  at  the  baths  of  Bormio, 
about  three  weeks  ago.  I  was  not  in  a  favorable  mood  for  writ 
ing  at  the  time,  —  probably  on  account  of  a  certain  physical  lan 
guor,  from  bathing  and  drinking  disagreeable  water,  —  and  so 
have  waited  until  reaching  here.  We  have  had,  on  the  whole,  a 
very  agreeable  summer  trip  ;  from  Gotha  to  Switzerland,  leaving 
railroads  at  Chur,  whence  we  posted  over  the  mountains  to  the 
Engadin,  then  by  the  Bernina  Pass  to  the  valley  of  the  Adda,  and 
so  to  Bormio,  at  the  very  foot  of  the  famous  Stelvio  Pass  into  the 
Tyrol.  There  is  only  one  large  hotel,  standing  alone  in  the  midst 
of  a  wild  and  desolate  landscape,  four  thousand  four  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea.  The  springs  have  a  temperature  of  about 
ninety-five  degrees,  but  I  could  not  discover  that  there  is  any 
specially  bracing  or  healing  quality  about  them.  The  guests 
were  mostly  Italians  of  the  aristocratic  class  and  English,  —  on 
the  whole,  a  pleasant  company  ;  the  Americans  have  not  yet  dis 
covered  the  place.  We  stayed  three  weeks,  more  benefited,  I 
think,  by  the  delightful  air,  exercise,  and  freedom  from  work, 


LARS.  595 

than  by  the  bathing.  Among  other  excursions  we  went  up  the 
Stelvio,  nine  thousand  feet,  and  always  covered  with  snow. 
Leaving  Bormio  we  went  down  the  valley  of  the  Adda  to  the 
Lake  of  Como,  crossed  to  Lugano,  and  then  to  Lago  Maggiore, 
and  over  the  Simplon  to  this  place,  a  trip  of  six  days,  during 
which  we  scarcely  had  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  Every  day  was  a 
fresh  delight.  All  the  main  lines  of  travel  this  year  are  swamped 
under  the  crowds  of  Americans  and  English.  I  never  saw  such 
multitudes  ;  but  I  manage,  by  displaying  the  airs  of  an  old,  case- 
hardened  traveler,  to  avoid  over-charges.  I  always  commence 
by  offering  the  landlords  and  waiters  their  choice  of  French, 
Italian,  or  German,  which  is  usually  sufficient.  If  they  say  any 
thing  about  places  or  routes,  I  answer  :  "  I  know  all  that,  I 
have  seen  everything  a  dozen  times."  It  makes  a  difference  in 
the  bill,  I  assure  you.  Except  in  Germany,  expenses  are  no 
greater  than  they  were  four  years  ago. 

Your  letter  had  a  special  interest  for  me.  How  well  I  under 
stand  the  mood  you  describe  !  I  had  it  through  the  summer  of 
1868,  and  still  have  it  at  intervals.  In  fact,  I  was  too  hasty  in 
writing  to  you  from  Gotha  that  my  own  delight  in  work  had 
come  back  to  me.  It  was  a  delusion.  For  two  months  past  I 
have  done  nothing,  and  your  letter  found  me  in  that  sort  of  de 
pression  which  sees  no  good  in  anything  done,  and  no  chance  of 
anything  better  to  come.  I  think,  when  the  mind  has  been  a  lit 
tle  overtaxed,  a  kind  of  morbid  activity  may  be  produced,  which 
one  easily  mistakes  for  returning  vigor.  In  Gotha  I  began  writ 
ing  a  long  poem,  the  plan  of  which  I  had  been  brooding  over  for 
at  least  five  years  ;  but  I  did  n't  finish  more  than  a  hundred  lines 
before  the  heat  died  out  of  me,  and  left  me  with  a  cold,  flabby 
sensation.  I  determined  that  I  would  not  worry  about  it,  and 
the  travel  and  rest  at  Bormio  have  been  a  complete  restorative. 
The  desire  for  activity  which  is  now  slowly  growing  upon  me  is 
the  genuine,  healthy  thing.  I  am  sure  your  experience  will  be 
similar.  I  fully  expect  that  this  will  find  you  at  work,  cheerful 
and  hopeful.  Why,  if  one's  art  is  not  a  permanent  possession,  it 
is  the  vilest  cheat  ever  invented  by  the  Devil  !  There  is  a  heal 
ing  influence  in  the  very  telling  of  such  experiences.  Probably 
no  true  author  or  artist  is  ever  entirely  free  from  them  ;  the  only 
confident  and  happy  souls  are  the and and ! 

How  glad  I  am  to  be  away  from  home  this  summer  !  I  can 
even  smell  the  stench  and  feel  the  venom  of  the  campaign  at 


596  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

this  distance,  and  there  are  few  features  of  it  which  do  not  create 
disgust.  My  only  consolation  is  the  hope  that  after  such  a  stir 
ring  up  there  may  be  such  a  universal  nausea  that  all  parties 
will  have  relieved  their  stomachs  and  returned  to  plain  and  de 
cent  fare.  Thank  Heaven  there  are  only  two  months  more  of  it  ! 
I  made  about  a  dozen  water-color  sketches  at  Bormio,  and  was 
glad  to  find  Goethe's  test  hold  true,  that  if  one  improves  while 
resting,  finding  himself  doing  better  on  recommencing  work  than 
011  leaving  oft',  it  is  a  sure  indication  that  the  ability  is  inherent, 
native,  not  the  result  of  mere  technical  skill.  We  constantly 
thought  and  talked  of  you  and  Gifford,  and  I  don't  know  how 
many  pictures  we  selected  for  you  in  glens  and  valleys  which 
you  may  never  see.  After  all  there  is  no  more  charming  life 
than  that  of  an  artist  who  is  not  obliged  to  depend  wholly  on  his 
art  for  his  living.  Think  what  cant  and  abuse  you  escape,  in  the 
form  of  "  moral  and  religious  tendencies,"  etc.  No  one  can  say 
that  a  landscape  is  not  moral,  or  that  it  in  any  way  conflicts  with 
"Christian  doctrine."  Pharisee  and  sinner  come  to  you  alike, 
and  you  are  free  to  Catholic  and  Rationalistic  walls.  The  tem 
perance  people  buy  your  grape-vines,  and  the  strong-minded 
women  your  ivy  clinging  to  the  oak.  There  is  no  sting  in  your 
nettles,  and  no  blight  falls  from  your  upas  tree.  You  cannot 
"  corrupt  youth,"  or  "  bring  an  indignant  blush  to  the  cheek  of 
outraged  virtue."  Happy,  thrice  happy  painter  !  Let  this  im 
munity  balance  a  thousand  dissatisfactions  with  your  fate.  Well, 
I  am  cultivating  a  thick  hide,  so  that  our  fortunes  may  be  more 
similar.  Now,  good-by  !  Write  to  me  at  Gotha,  where  we  shall 
be  again  in  a  fortnight. 

On  his  return  to  Gotha  Bayard  Taylor  settled  him 
self  to  work.  He  was  busy  with  one  of  the  Scribner 
volumes,  and  he  took  up  again  the  poem  which  he  had 
begun  early  in  the  summer,  and  had  laid  aside  from 
lack  of  energy  to  go  on  with  it.  He  never  could  work 
at  poetry  in  a  languid  or  even  in  a  deliberate  fashion. 
He  was  unwilling  to  write  unless  he  was  so  possessed 
by  his  subject  that  the  difficulty  was  in  stopping,  not 
in  beginning  work. 


LARS.  597 


TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  October  6,  1872. 

I  Ve  not  written  many  letters  this  summer,  or  you  would  have 
had  one  before.  The  fact  is,  I  was  more  listless  and  lazy  than 
ever  before  in  my  life,  and  it  has  done  me  good  in  every  way.  I 
thought  I  should  write  a  few  things,  merely  to  keep  my  hand  in  : 
but  no  !  my  brain  bucked,  and  refused  to  budge  a  step  until  it 
pleased.  I  yielded,  knowing  full  well  that  the  old  pace  would 
come  back  again  soon  enough  —  as  it  has.  The  watering,  exter 
nally  and  internally,  the  air  of  the  high  Alps,  the  glimpse  of  Italy 
on  the  lakes,  the  determined  banishment  of  all  uneasy  subjects 
from  my  thoughts,  have  been  followed  by  a  complete  restoration 
of  health  and  fine  spirits.  I  hope  your  Old  Colony  sojourn  has 
done  as  much  for  you.  I  have  read  your  letters  with  real  relish  ; 
the  last  was  especially  good.  Now  what  will  you  be  at  ?  What 
new  form  of  the  old  business  ?  What  variety  of  literary  activity  ? 

I  am  slowly  gathering  material  for  Goethe's  life.  It  is  very 
rich,  and  very  attractive.  In  July  I  took  a  carriage,  and  with 
M.  and  L.  went  to  Ilmenau  and  Rudolstadt,  studying  Goethe  and 
Schiller  localities.  It  was  a  charming  trip.  At  Ilmenau  the 
landlord  put  us  into  Goethe's  room,  where  he  spent  his  last  birth 
day,  and  there,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  I  came  upon  a  very 
interesting  fact  for  his  biography.  In  Frankfurt  I  got  upon  the 
track  of  many  curious  particulars.  Oh,  if  I  had  but  all  my  time 
to  myself,  how  I  should  plunge  into  the  work  !  .but  I  must  first 
buy  my  time  by  these  wearisome  compilations  for  Scribner.  Al 
though  I  am  now  sticking  to  the  latter,  with  an  aroused  con 
science,  after  my  summer  idleness,  I  cannot  help  writing  a  little 
every  evening  on  a  poem  which  has  been  haunting  me  for  at  least 
six  years.  It  is  an  idyllic  story,  in  blank  verse,  wholly  mine  own 
conception.  I  have  written  about  two  hundred  lines,  and  don't 
see  how  I  can  finish  under  two  thousand.  When  I  am  farther 
on,  I  '11  tell  you  more  about  it,  —  now,  I  dare  not.  But  I  don't 
write  so  much  to  tell  you  of  myself,  as  to  evoke  news  of  yourself 
from  you.  I  was  greatly  disappointed  to  miss  your  good-by  be 
fore  sailing  ;  but  I  trust  the  Lord  has  still  many  How-are-yous 
in  store  for  you  and  me.  ...  I  am  in  a  slight  state  of  uncer 
tainty  just  now,  about  some  home  matters,  and  am  not  "laid 
out"  (to  translate  a  German  expression)  for  one  of  my  long- 
winded,  effusive  epistles.  But  keep  your  faith  in  my  old  affec- 


598  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

tion,  nevertheless.  I  have  not  been  silent  from  neglect  or  indif 
ference,  only  heartily  tired  of  pen  and  paper,  and  with  a  most 
languid  intellect.  You  don't  know  what  delight  there  is  in  a 
letter  from  an  old  friend,  when  one  is  so  far  away  from  all  home- 
friends,  or  you  would  have  heaped  coals  on  my  head  before  this. 
Be  sure  and  give  me,  also,  all  the  news  and  gossip. 

TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD. 

GOTHA,  October  28,  1872. 

Since  I  wrote  to  you,  three  or  four  weeks  ago,  I  have  so 
worked  myself  into  the  new  poem  that  I  can't  stop.  The  first 
and  second  books  are  finished,  and  the  third  (and  last)  grows 
daily.  It  has  been  maturing  in  my  head  for  so  many  years  that 
all  the  incidents  are  complete  in  advance.  I  write  slowly,  revise 
carefully,  and  shall  have  little  to  change  when  the  last  line  is 
written.  It  will  make  about  2,100  lines,  or  one  hundred  and 
thirty  pages  like  the  "  Masque."  Have  you  courage  to  publish  it, 
say  early  in  March  ?  As  a  narrative  poem,  with  a  touching  and 
quite  original  story,  the  scene  of  which  is  partly  in  Norway  and 
partly  in  Delaware,  it  ought  to  attract  ten  readers  for  one  of  the 
"Masque."  I  send  you  an  episode  from  Book  I. 

.  .  .  Long  before  I  hear  from  you,  the  poem  will  be  finished, 
and  ready  to  send.  The  title  is  "  Lars."  Book  I.  is  laid  in  Nor 
way,  Book  II.  on  the  Delaware,  and  Book  III.  in  Norway  again. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  story  is  not  only  highly  moral,  but 
religious  !  !  !  Yet  there  is  no  purposed  moralizing  :  all  is  action, 
talk,  and  description,  as  in  the  passage  I  send.  If  your  decision 
gives  me  hope,  I  shall  try  to  arrange  with  Strahan,  and  herein  a 
word  from  you  would  help.  I  can  have  the  MS.  copied  here, 
and  a  few  days  priority  of  publication  in  London  will  secure  him. 

I  meant,  at  first,  to  have  told  you  more  of  the  story  ;  but  I 
guess  it 's  hardly  necessary.  The  specimen  must  answer  ;  and 
besides,  such  things  easily  get  out.  Pray  do  not  mention  the 
matter  yet,  or  show  the  MS.  to  any  besides  Howells,  Aldrich, 
Fields,  and  Longfellow.  If  Whittier  should  drop  in  when  you 
get  this,  he  may  read  all,  over  your  shoulder,  also. 

Give  my  hearty  love  to  all  the  above,  and  let  me  hear  from 
you  in  regard  to  this,  as  soon  as  you  have  consulted  the  stars. 


LARS.  599 


TO  T.   B.   ALDRICH. 

GOTHA,  October  28,  1872. 

.  .  .  Osgood  will  show  you  what  I  am  about,  and  I  hope  the 
plan  will  strike  you  agreeably.  If  he  should  decide  on  publish 
ing,  may  I  rely  on  your  exact  eye  and  good  heart,  old  boy,  to 
read  the  proof  of  2,100  lines  of  blank  verse  ?  Of  these,  1,500 
are  written,  and  the  remaining  part  is  so  sketched  out  that  I  can 
very  nearly  guess  its  proportion.  I  have  no  audience  or  adviser 
here  but  M.,  who  is  all  the  keener  because  a  loving  critic.  She 
encourages  me  greatly,  but  —  woe  is  me  !  —  I  no  longer  build  on 
anything  I  write  being  specially  popular.  This  poem  of  "  Lars  " 
has  been  floating  and  growing  in  my  brain  for  at  least  six  years. 
I  did  not  mean  to  undertake  it  this  fall,  but  it  would  out,  and  I 
am  glad  ;  because  another  idea,  which  it  covered  or  overlaid,  now 
stands  clear  before  my  mind. 

A  week  ago  the  Grand  Duke  of  Saxe- Weimar  invited  me  to 
visit  him  at  the  Wartburg  ;  this  on  account  of  "  Faust."  We 
dined  in  the  Hall  of  the  Minstrels,  where  Tannhauser  sang,  — 
actually  the  same  old  Byzantine  hall,  —  and  sat  on  mediaeval 
chairs.  All  their  five  Roilighnesses  (as  Yellowplush  says)  were 
very  amiable,  and  the  two  Princesses  were  charming.  This  in 
vitation  is  a  good  thing  for  my  plans  ;  for  the  Grand  Duke  in 
vited  me  to  Weimar,  and  all  the  Goethean  records  and  archives 
will  now  be  open  to  me.  At  present  I  am  only  collecting  mate 
rials,  which  will  be  a  work  of  some  months. 

Here  we  are  living  very  quietly.  I  work  half  the  day  com 
piling  for  Scribners,  and  thus  earn  the  right  to  use  the  other 
half  for  myself.  Moreover,  I  paint  in  oil,  and  of  such  is  not  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  !  How  I  should  like  to  have  an  autumn 
evening  at  Cambridge  with  you,  and  Longfellow,  and  Howells  ! 

Tell  Longfellow  from  me  that  the  Weimar  Princesses  have 

read  all  his  works,  and  the  Hoffraulein,  Baroness  ,  a  very 

charming  person,  begged  me  to  say  that  her  enthusiasm  for  him 
is  so  great  that  it  led  her  to  cut  his  name  out  of  a  traveler's  reg 
ister  at  Bruges.  This  was  at  the  beginning  of  dinner,  and  all 
the  ceremonious  Highnesses  showed  so  much  interest  in  Long 
fellow  that  I  forgot  ceremony  and  felt  quite  at  home  all  the 
evening.  So  that  I  owe  to  him  ! 


600  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   A   BEGINNER   IN   POETRY,   WHO   HAD   ASKED   ADVICE. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  October  28,  1872. 

Your  letter  and  the  MSS.  have  been  forwarded  to  me  from 
New  York. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  give  an  absolute  opinion  in  regard  to 
poems,  and  yet  be  just  to  the  writer.  Many  other  things  must 
be  considered,  —  age,  circumstances  of  life,  temperament,  men 
tal  and  moral  force  independent  of  the  poetic  faculty,  etc.,  etc. 
If  you  are  young,  for  instance,  you  have  the  power  of  finally 
producing  much  better  verse  ;  if  no  longer  young,  you  can  only 
hope  to  produce  that  which  manifests  poetic  taste  and  feeling. 
You  have  a  decided  rhythmical  sense,  yet  with  many  roughnesses 
and  some  awkward  lines.  is  the  most  complete  and  agree 
able  of  the  poems.  In  and  ,  there  are  good  stanzas, 

but  the  execution  is  uneven,  sometimes  careless.  A  man  who 
means  to  write  poetry  must  know  how  to  work.  One  might  as 
well  hope  to  become  a  painter  without  studying  the  laws  of  draw 
ing  and  color,  and  all  the  technicalities  of  the  art,  as  to  become 
a  successful  poet  without  devoting  an  equal  study  to  rhythm, 
language,  and  the  forms  of  thought.  This  is  all  I  can  say,  and 
I  am  aware  that  it  will  not  be  satisfactory  to  you.  But  what  can 
I  do  ?  In  poetry,  each  man  must  work  out  his  own  salvation.  If 
I  simply  censured,  I  should  be  unjust  ;  if  I  simply  praised,  I 
should  do  more  harm  than  good. 

Begging  you  to  believe,  at  least,  that  what  I  have  said  is  meant 
to  be  in  the  most  friendly  spirit,  I  remain  very  truly  yours. 

TO   JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  November  18,  1872. 

Your  letter  came  four  or  five  days  ago,  and  I  take  my  first 
leisure  to  answer  it.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  this  will  find  you 
in  your  Tenth  Street  rooms,  which  are  so  clear  in  my  memory 
(even  to  the  little  flat  alabaster  dish  for  cigars),  that  a  letter  is 
more  like  a  personal  meeting  to  me  than  when  you  were  in  Ron- 
dout.  You  somehow  manage  to  bring  your  own  bodily  self  be 
fore  me  when  you  write  :  I  see  your  eyes  and  beard,  and  the 
changing  expression  of  your  face,  as  I  read,  and  the  sound  of 
your  voice  accompanies  the  written  words.  Thus  your  letters 
are  most  welcome,  no  matter  what  you  write,  and  I  don't  care 
how  many  jeremiads  you  send  me  ;  only,  my  dear  old  fellow, 


LARS.  601 

don't  look  to  me  for  strength  and  comfort  at  a  time  when  I  my 
self  can  only  keep  cheerful  and  hopeful  by  sheer  force  of  will. 
I  have  a  great  mind  to  cultivate  phlegm  and  indifference  ;  I  be 
lieve  I  should  get  along  just  as  well  as  with  my  present  sensitive 
nerves  and  confoundedly  wakeful  imagination.  If  anybody  in 
this  world  has,  during  the  past  three  months,  buffeted  and  tram 
pled  on  himself,  and  shut  his  mind  up  in  a  dark  closet  like  a 
naughty  child,  whenever  it  began  to  dread  and  misgive,  that  man 
is  myself.  I  get  no  end  of  bad  news  :  the  man  who  took  my 
house  threatens  to  break  his  contract  ;  the  gardener  has  given 
me  six  months'  notice  of  the  termination  of  his;  an  arrange 
ment  I  made  for  my  parents  has  been  spoiled  by  the  neglect  or 
bad  memory  of  the  friend  who  offered  to  see  it  carried  out  ;  the 
money  I  have  been  expecting  from  four  different  quarters  does 
not  come,  —  not  a  stiver,  —  and  my  whole  worldly  wealth  at  this 
moment  consists  of  fifteen  groschen  !  Mixed  with  all  this  bad 
luck  there  is  one  possibility  of  a  great  good  fortune  soon  ;  but 
I  dare  not  hope.  I  am  in  a  state  of  suspense  ;  ten  years  ago  I 
should  have  lost  appetite,  sleep,  and  capacity  for  work.  Now  I 
say  to  myself  :  "  Keep  cool,  you  old  sinner  !  "  and  /  am  cool. 
There  ! 

I  have  one  positive  happiness.  I  have  just  finished  a  poem 
which  has  been  haunting  and  tormenting  me  for  at  least  six 
years.  It  is  an  idyllic  story,  in  blank  verse,  quite  unlike  any 
thing  I  have  done,  making  three  books,  and  about  2,100  lines. 
I  don't  think  you  would  take  it  for  mine  if  you  should  see  it 
printed  without  a  name.  This  poem  has  helped  me  amazingly 
over  all  the  weeks  of  discouragement  arid  uncertainty  :  so  my 
counsel  to  you  is  —  Paint  !  Schiller  was  right :  "  Occupation 
that  never  wearies  ;  that  slowly  creates  and  nought  destroys  "  is 
one  of  the  secrets  by  which  we  can  control  our  natures  and  make 
our  lives  smoother.  I  have  also  compiled  a  volume  for  Scrib- 
ners  this  fall,  and  have  purposely  laid  out  some  more  mechan 
ical  work  for  myself,  in  order  to  carry  me  over  the  remaining 
period  of  suspense,  —  about  a  month  yet.  Pray  let  me  keep 
silence  about  this  matter  until  the  suspense  is  over,  and  then  you 
shall  know  all.  But  I  assure  you  (and  M.  will  testify  to  it)  that 
I  am  composed,  cheerful,  and  not  uneasy  more  than  fifteen  min 
utes  in  each  week. 

I  read  a  review  of  ,  with  extracts,  in  the  "  Tribune." 

Great  Jove  !  how  can  the  man  so  coolly  display  his  marvelous 


602  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

ignorance  of  the  whole  Grecian  world  ?  To  make  unconscious 
Calvinists  of  the  Rhodian  sculptors  !  I  am  not  surprised  that  he 
should  have  8,000  (or  80,000)  readers  ;  he  puts  a  broad  phylac 
tery  on  his  books  and  the  sect  takes  them  on  the  strength  of  it. 
You  and  I  will  never  see  the  end  of  glorified  crudity  in  the 
United  States  ;  but  we  shall  see  the  growth  of  an  independent, 
cultivated  class,  the  guardians  of  the  temple  where  we  worship. 

TO   A.   R.    MACDONOUGH. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  November  24,  1872. 

I  was  beginning  to  wonder  whether  I  should  ever  hear  from 
you,  when  your  letter  arrived.  Gout,  after  the  Canadian  forests 
(which  means  salt  pork,  biscuits,  and  an  occasional  trout  !),  is 
something  incomprehensible.  Yours  cannot  be  the  genuine  ar 
ticle,  and  for  your  sake  I  will  hope  your  doctor  is  mistaken. 
How  can  I  think  of  you,  on  monthly  evenings  at  the  Century, 
without  a  glass  of  punch  in  your  hand  ? 

I  quite  share  your  disgust  in  regard  to  this  year's  political  cam 
paign,  and  I  suppose  I  am  as  glad  as  you  can  possibly  be  that 
the  thing  has  come  to  an  end.  I  feel  sorry  for  Greeley  on  per 
sonal  grounds,  but  have  no  fear  of  what  Gushing  calls  a  "  cat 
aclysm,"  because  he  is  not  elected.  I  must  confess,  also,  that  the 
"  Tribune  "  of  November  8th  —  the  last  I  have  received  —  is 
much  more  agreeable  reading  than  any  number  since  June  has 
been.  I  now  hope  for,  and  try  to  believe  in,  the  disintegration 
of  both  parties,  and  the  formation  of  new  (and  let  us  hope,  de 
cent)  ones,  by  1876. 

What  you  suggest  about  writing  a  life  of  Schiller  indicates 
to  me  that  I  could  not  have  told  you,  in  detail,  my  plan  of 
Goethe's  biography.  I  mean  to  include  the  biography  of  Schil 
ler  within  it,  for  the  very  reason  that  the  two  lives  run  together 
during  so  many  important  years.  Let  me  try  to  make  it  clear 
by  a  diagram  :  — 

1749.  1788.  1805.  1832-f 

GOETHE.       O  ---  •  -  •  -  •  -  • 


SCHILLER. 

1759. 

The  action  of  the  two  minds  upon  each  other,  the  radical  dif 
ferences  in  their  methods  of  development,  yet  the  similarity  of 


LARS.  603 

their  directions,  give  opportunities  for  a  series  of  contrasts, 
whereby  each  explains  the  other.  In  many  respects  they  are 
complementary.  There  is  no  work  of  the  kind,  even  in  Germany  ; 
no  attempt  has  been  made  anywhere,  so  far  as  I  know,  to  write 
a  double  biography  of  this  kind.  There  are  difficulties  in  the 
way,  I  admit  ;  but  if  I  can  succeed  in  keeping  each  biography 
from  interfering  with  the  interest  of  the  other,  up  to  the  point 
where  they  join,  the  rest  will  be  easy.  I  am  collecting  material 
for  both  at  the  same  time,  and  also  studying  the  composition  of 
society  in  Weimar  and  Jena  during  the  classic  period.  It  is  now 
possible  to  draw  another  and  a  much  more  real  portrait  of  Schil 
ler  than  you  will  find  in  Carlyle's  life,  and  a  far  completer  pic 
ture  of  Goethe  than  Lewes  gives  us. 

Three  weeks  ago  the  Grand -Duke  of  Saxe- Weimar  (Carl 
August's  grandson)  invited  me  to  dinner,  for  Goethe's  sake.  We 
dined  in  the  Sdngersaal,  in  the  Wartburg,  between  the  old  By 
zantine  pillars,  against  which  certainly  must  have  leaned  Wolf 
ram  von  Eschenbach  and  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide.  The 
Grand-Duke  is  a  special  admirer  of  Hawthorne,  and  is  quite  well 
acquainted,  uberhaupt,  with  American  literature.  The  most  im 
portant  result  of  this  visit  to  me  was  a  pressing  invitation  to 
visit  the  Herrschaften  again  in  Weimar,  and  a  promise  from 
the  Grand-Duke  that  I  should  have  all  necessary  facilities  in 
making  my  Goethe  researches.  This  makes  my  way  clear  in 
advance. 

But  I  can't  undertake  any  real  work  upon  the  biography  be 
fore  next  summer.  There  is  still  one  more  pot-boiling  task  to  be 
finished  —  a  matter  of  six  months  —  before  my  time  will  be  my 
own.  The  delay  does  no  harm  ;  I  collect  BriefwecTisel  of  all 
sorts,  read,  assimilate,  and  quietly  mature  the  plan,  so  that  when 
I  finally  begin  I  shall  be  used  to  the  weight  of  the  material,  and 
not  too  much  oppressed  by  it. 

Moreover,  this  fall  I  have  cleared  my  brain  of  one  poetic  dis 
turbance.  I  have  written  a  semi  -  idyllic,  semi  -  dramatic  poem 
in  blank  verse  —  about  2,100  lines.  For  years  the  conception 
has  been  haunting  me,  but  postponed ;  held  off,  because  there  was 
no  fitting  time  or  mood.  It  returned  upon  my  indolence  this 
summer,  would  take  no  denial,  forced  me  to  begin  ;  and  when 
one  begins,  you  know,  one  is  securely  caught.  Well,  the  thing  is 
done.  It  is  in  three  Books,  is  entitled  "  Lars,"  begins  and  ends 
in  Norway,  but  shifts  over  the  ocean  to  Delaware  in  Book  II. 


604  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

The  poem  is  (for  me)  very  simple  and  unrhetorical.  /  like  it 
for  its  uiilikeness  to  all  my  other  poetry.  Whether  it  will  be 
specially  liked  by  others  I  can't  tell,  nor  do  I  trouble  myself 
with  speculations  thereupon.  When,  five  or  six  years  ago,  I  saw 
clearly  that  I  had  achieved  no  real  success  as  an  author,  I  said 
to  myself  :  "  This  first  battle  is  lost,  but  there  is  still  time  to  win 
another."  If  I  live  I  think  I  shall  win  it,  but  only  legitimately, 
by  a  slow  and  steady  advance  along  the  whole  line.  The 
"  Masque,"  for  instance,  is  not  popular,  —  cannot  be,  —  yet  it  has 
given  me  a  little  more  ground.  So  my  "  Lars,"  which  has  been 
a  great  delight,  and  leaves  a  singular  feeling  of  relief  behind  it, 
will  force  another  small  portion  of  the  resisting  public  to  yield. 

While  writing  it  you  were  often  in  my  mind.  I  felt  the  need 
of  your  rhythmical  instinct,  in  the  way  of  sympathy  and  coun 
sel  ;  but  if  Osgood,  to  whom  I  have  written,  has  not  lost  faith, 
the  poem  will  be  published  in  March.  I  sent  him  a  small  speci 
men  brick,  and  would  send  you  one  if  I  had  but  time  to  copy. 
Just  now  I  have  a  new  and  rather  curious  task  on  hand.  I  am 
writing  a  lecture  in  German  on  American  Literature,  to  be  de 
livered  here  in  a  fortnight,  for  the  benefit  of  a  Frauenverein 
(Benevolent,  not  Strong-Minded).  I  have  never  tried  such  an 
experiment,  —  have  never,  in  fact,  written  so  much  German  at 
one  time  ;  but  thus  far  my  wife  gives  me  good  encouragement. 
Were  it  not  for  the  atra  euro,  of  small  business  matters,  which 
visits  me  again  and  again  in  letters  from  Pennsylvania,  I  should 
have  no  complaint  to  make  against  my  present  fate.  It  often 
seems  as  if  we  were  never  allowed  to  possess  a  gift  without  pay 
ing  for  it  ;  the  Gods  are  hard  creditors. 

I  wish  you  would  take  my  plan  of  the  double-biography  into 
consideration,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it.  You  may  be 
able  to  see  some  difficulty  which  has  escaped  me,  or  a  way  of 
avoiding  one  which  is  directly  evident.  I  find,  already,  that  the 
plan  will  oblige  me  to  give  a  tolerably  full  account  of  the  whole 
Weimar  circle  :  but  this,  if  well  done,  will  be  an  advantage. 
Were  I  to  make  two  separate  works,  the  most  interesting  years 
(1793  to  1805)  must  be  repeated  in  each.  .  .  . 

Here  I  must  close,  for  this  time.  I  have  hardly  given  you 
anything  but  egotistical  gossip,  but  really  I  have  nothing  else  to 
send.  Our  life  here  is  very  quiet  and  monotonous,  and  perhaps 
the  days  would  drag  if  I  did  not  work  so  steadily.  We  shall  be 
here  until  the  beginning  of  January  ;  so,  pray,  write  soon,  and  I 


LARS.  605 

shall  get  your  letter  before  leaving.  I  think  we  shall  go  to  Flor 
ence  or  Rome  for  the  rest  of  the  winter,  but  cannot  yet  decide 
until  we  get  further  news  from  home. 

My  wife  heartily  returns  your  greeting.  She  has  just  finished 
a  prose  translation  of  my  "  Masque,"  for  the  private  benefit  of 
many  friends  or  relatives  who  read  no  English. 

The  references  to  the  circumstances  of  his  life  inti 
mate  that  all  was  not  going  well.  In  truth,  things  were 
going  very  ill.  The  ease  and  contentment  with  which 
he  had  begun  his  life  abroad  had  given  way  to  anxiety 
and  the  most  helpless  perplexity.  Almost  every  re 
source  upon  which  he  relied  failed  him.  No  letters 
came  in  response  to  his  inquiries.  The  "Tribune" 
passed  its  quarterly  dividends  twice.  The  tenant  at 
Cedarcroft  made  no  payment.  The  prospective  pur 
chaser  of  the  estate  hesitated  and  delayed  in  the  most 
trying  manner.  Remittances  on  which  he  had  confi 
dently  counted  failed  to  come,  owing  to  mistakes,  and 
upon  top  of  it  all  came  in  quick  succession  news  of  the 
disastrous  defeat  of  Mr.  Greeley,  the  death  of  Mr. 
Greeley,  and  the  tempestuous  condition  of  the  inter 
nal  affairs  of  the  "Tribune." 

Bayard  Taylor  mourned  Mr.  Greeley's  death  sin 
cerely.  He  had  been  associated  with  the  great  editor 
ever  since  he  had  himself  entered  the  field  of  journal 
ism,  and  in  the  quarter-century  intimacy  had  learned 
to  know  him  well.  With  the  knowledge  had  come 
only  increasing  respect,  and  when  in  1876  he  was  called 
upon  to  accept,  in  the  name  of  the  people,  the  monu 
mental  bust  of  Horace  Greeley,  which  an  association 
of  printers  had  placed  in  Greenwood  Cemetery,  he 
mingled  his  own  personal  regard  with  his  recognition 
of  Mr.  Greeley's  public  services.  "  I  should  like,"  he 
said  in  his  address,  "  to  speak  of  his  tenderness  and 


606  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

generosity.  I  should  like  to  explain  the  awkward  de 
vices  of  his  heart  to  hide  itself,  knowing  that  the  exhi 
bition  of  feeling  is  unconventional,  and  sensitive  lest 
its  earnest  impulses  should  be  misconstrued.  But  the 
veil  which  he  wore  during  life  must  not  be  lifted  by 
the  privilege  which  follows  death ;  enough  of  light 
shines  through  it  to  reveal  all  that  the  world  need 
know.  To  me  his  nature  seemed  like  a  fertile  tract  of 
the  soil  of  his  native  New  Hampshire.  It  was  cleared 
and  cultivated,  and  rich  harvests  clad  its  southern 
slopes ;  yet  the  rough  primitive  granite  cropped  out 
here  and  there,  and  there  were  dingles  which  defied 
the  plough,  where  the  sweet  wild  flowers  blossomed  in 
their  season,  and  the  wild  birds  built  their  nests  un 
harmed.  In  a  word,  he  was  a  man  who  kept  his  life 
as  God  fashioned  it  for  him,  neither  assuming  a  grace 
which  was  not  bestowed,  nor  disguising  a  quality 
which  asserted  its  existence." 

The  whole  period  was  one  of  public  and  private  loss 
to  Bayard  Taylor.  He  learned  soon  after  of  the  death 
of  his  dear  friend  Mr.  Kensett,  the  artist,  and  of 
his  long-tried  associate,  Mr.  Putnam,  the  publisher. 
These  private  griefs  deepened  the  gloom  into  which 
his  affairs  were  cast.  He  found  himself  at  a  distance 
from  the  scene  of  action,  unable  to  protect  the  interests 
of  his  property  in  the  "  Tribune,"  the  prey  of  conflict 
ing  purposes,  absolutely  adrift.  It  was  impossible  to 
work,  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  the  terrible  depression 
which  overtook  him,  and  which  was  lifted  only  when 
he  received  at  last  such  intelligence  as  persuaded  him 
of  the  substantial  integrity  of  his  interest  in  the 
"  Tribune."  Then  he  threw  himself  eagerly  into  the 
plans  of  his  associates,  heartily  commended  them  for 
carrying  out  the  building  scheme,  and  expressed  the 


LARS.  607 

most  entire  faith  in  the  future  of  the  paper  under 
its  new  auspices.  Nevertheless,  he  was  so  completely 
thrown  out  of  his  calculations  that  he  was  compelled 
to  part  with  one  of  his  shares  in  order  to  gain  time  for 
recovering  himself.  He  retained  his  remaining  shares, 
well  content,  he  said,  to  wait  for  the  return  of  pros 
perity.  He  waited  indeed,  for  no  dividends  were  paid 
on  the  Tribune  stock  until  after  his  death,  and  from 
this  time  forward  there  was  no  release  from  arduous 
labor,  incessant  daily  toil  to  meet  the  demands  of 
maintenance.  The  higher  work  which  he  was  yet  to 
do  was  done  because  he  must  do  it,  not  for  gain,  but 
for  the  satisfaction  of  his  nature,  and  it  was  done  in 
contempt  of  toil  and  rest.  He  was  not  again  to  know 
any  true  mental  leisure. 

Meanwhile  he  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  publica 
tion  of  "  Lars,"  waiting  with  some  impatience  to  see 
how  it  would  be  received. 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  December  2,  1872. 

The  news  of  Greeley's  death  came  yesterday.  I  am  too  much 
shocked  and  stunned  to  write  much  about  it,  further  than  to  send 
the  inclosed,  which  I  beg  you  to  publish  at  once.  I  have  ven 
tured  to  speak  for  all  of  us,  you  will  see,  and  hope  there  is  no 
line  which  Greeley's  other  associates  will  not  indorse. 

Pray  write  to  me  immediately.  I  must  wait  long  until  I  get 
any  particulars  of  the  sad  —  nay,  the  tragic  event  ;  and  the 
"  Tribune  "  will  not  give  me  all.  Do  take  half  an  hour  for  my 
sake,  and  tell  me  everything.  I  feel  it  as  a  hard  blow,  —  so 
hard,  indeed,  that  I  cannot  yet  write  about  it.  But  the  poem 
wrote  itself  :  it  ran  hot  from  my  mind,  as  it  stands. 

TO  J.   R.    OSGOOD. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  December  16,  1872. 

I  almost  fancied  I  should  never  hear  from  you  again,  when 
your  letter  came  on  the  13th.  ...  I  have  just  had  a  letter  from 


608  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Mr.  Isbister,  now  the  head  of  Strahan  &  Co.  His  edition  of 
"  Faust  "  has  very  nearly  paid  expenses,  and  the  sale  continues 
steadily  good.  Fifty  copies  more  will  clear  the  whole  edition, 
and  then  I  shall  get  at  least  five  shillings  on  every  volume  sold. 
He  promises  me  good  returns  for  next  year.  Moreover,  he  is 
anxious  to  publish  "  Lars  "  in  London  a  few  days  before  you  do 
in  Boston,  and  offers  me  half  profits. 

I  am  more  than  ever  anxious  to  have  "  Lars  "  published  early 
in  March,  say  the  8th  or  10th.  Congress  will  then  have  ad 
journed,  and  after  a  year  of  debauch  the  public  stomach,  it  seems 
to  me,  will  be  ready  for  the  mild  magnesia  or  seltzers  of  such  a 
poem  as  "  Lars."  I  send  in  this  envelope  Books  I.  and  II.,  and 
you  will  get  Book  III.  by  the  next  mail.  When  you  have  the 
entire  MS.  in  your  hands,  light  a  cigar  on  the  first  rainy  Sunday 
morning  that  comes,  sit  down,  and  read  the  whole  poem.  I  think 
you  will  then  understand  why  I  want  to  publish  in  March  rather 
than  wait  until  next  October.  In  fact,  Strahan's  offer  obliges  me 
to  insist  upon  the  former  date.  I  am  neither  surprised  nor  mor 
tified  if  you  have  little  faith  in  the  popularity  of  my  poetry,  but 
I  must  ask  you  to  try  once  more.  If  this  venture  does  not  have 
at  least  a  moderate  success,  I  shall  hereafter  publish  my  poems 
myself  as  a  private  luxury. 

The  cheap  edition  of  "  Faust  "  can  much  better  be  postponed 
until  next  fall.  By  that  time  I  can  get  the  plates  of  both  vol 
umes  from  Brockhaus  —  if  you  are  willing,  that  is,  satisfied  with 
the  type,  etc.  —  and  send  them  to  you.  It  will  surely  be  much 
cheaper  for  me  than  to  have  them  made  in  Boston,  and  I  think 
the  two  will  make  one  handsome  volume  by  using  a  better  paper 
than  Brockhaus'. 

I  am  very  sorry  to  learn  that  you  have  lost  by  the  fire.1  I 
knew,  from  the  public  accounts,  that  your  quarters  were  un 
touched,  and  was  ready  to  congratulate  instead  of  condoling. 
The  loss  of  the  illustrations  must  be  serious,  unless  you  were  in 
sured.  Greeley's  death  is  a  severe  blow  to  me.  I  had  given  up 
the  hope  of  his  election  three  months  ago,  but  believed  that  he 
would  live  many  years  yet  and  do  the  more  good  because  of  this 
year's  experience.  I  do  not  think  his  death  will  injure  the 
"  Tribune  "  pecuniarily  ;  but  there  must  be  a  partial  reorganiza 
tion  of  the  editorial  corps,  and  I  am  not  at  all  satisfied  to  be  away 
at  such  a  time. 

l  The  Boston  fire  of  November  9,  1872. 


LARS.  609 

I  have  two  MS.  copies  of  "  Lars,"  one  for  Strahan  &  Co.  My 
proposition  is  that  they  should  publish  on  March  1st,  and  you  on 
March  8th.  I  had  suggested  this  to  them,  before  receiving  your 
letter.  I  can  arrange  to  send  you  the  sum  necessary  for  pay 
ment  of  the  plates  —  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  I 
should  guess,  —  by  the  end  of  February,  and  you  need  not  begin 
with  more  than  two  thousand  copies.  The  story  will  surely  jus 
tify  that  number  to  begin  with.  You  may  take  your  own  way  of 
having  attention  called  to  it,  by  advertising,  extracts  in  advance, 
etc 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 

GOTHA,  December  22,  1872. 

Your  letter  was  almost  like  the  sight  and  sound  of  yourself  to 
me.  In  these  short,  dark,  Northern  days,  and  the  many  uncer 
tainties  which  follow  me  here,  I  miss  the  old  circle  of  friends 
more  than  ever.  I  am  pursued  by  disappointments  of  all  sorts, 
and  for  the  last  fortnight  have  given  up  all  work  through  sheer 
inability  to  fix  my  mind  steadily  upon  any  subject.  Greeley's 
death,  as  you  may  guess,  is  a  hard  blow  to  me,  and  I  am  only 
just  now  beginning  to  accept  it  as  a  part  of  the  inevitable.  How 
ever,  since  yesterday,  when  the  sun  stood  over  Capricorn,  I  have 
passed  the  climax  of  discouragement.  This  "  darksome  hollow  " 
of  the  year  is  always  my  worst  season. 

Well,  the  poem  is  finished,  and  one  copy  of  the  MS.  is  half-seas 
over,  on  the  way  to  Osgood.  It  makes  just  2,135  lines  of  blank 
verse.  The  title  is  "  Lars,"  —  only  that,  and  nothing  more.  The 
story  is  wholly  mine  own  invention,  and  seemeth  unto  me  entirely 
original.  I  think  the  poem  will  interest  you  in  one  sense  :  it  is  very 
simple,  unrhetorical,  and  the  characters  are  all  objectively  drawn. 
The  Norwegian  scenes  ought  to  interest  many  readers  ;  but  I  do 
not  dare  to  anticipate  any  special  popularity  for  the  poem. 

I  have,  however,  one  piece  of  good  news.  Strahan  &  Co. 
(London)  write  to  me  that  the  sale  of  "  Faust "  has  very  nearly 
paid  the  expenses  of  the  edition  ;  it  continues  good  and  steady, 
and  they  will  have  some  profits  for  me  next  year.  Wherefore, 
they  offer  to  print  "  Lars  "  a  few  days  in  advance  of  Osgood,  and 
thus  secure  an  English  copyright.  I  have  made  another  MS. 
copy  for  them,  and  shall  send  it  in  a  few  days.  This  will  be  the 
first  publication  of  any  poem  of  mine  in  England,  and  may  the 
Gods  favor  the  venture  ! 

I  have  already  two  offers  from  London  for  the  biography  of 


CIO  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Goethe,  but  shall  make  no  arrangements  until  the  work  is  well 
under  way.  The  mass  of  material  to  be  scraped  together  is  im 
mense,  but  new  and  inspiring  vistas  are  already  opening  through 
it.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  for  I  can  only  manage  the  great  mass  by 
slow  assimilation.  ...  I  am  constantly  finding  new  sources  of 
private  and  personal  aid.  So,  as  far  as  this  plan  is  concerned, 
there  is  various  and  increasing  encouragement.  I  only  fear  that 
other  worries  may  force  me  away  from  it,  for  a  time. 

Yesterday  a  file  of  "  Tribunes  "  came,  with  your  poem,  "  Be 
fore  the  Burial,"  which  must  have  been  written  at  precisely  the 
same  time  as  I  wrote.  We  have  three  expressions  in  common,  I 
notice.  Your  poem  is  calm  and  artistic,  mine  personal  and  al 
most  passionate.  I  think  yours  one  of  the  best  things  you  ever 
wrote  :  it  is  at  once  touching  and  noble  in  feeling. 

I  quite  understand  your  restless  desire  to  write,  without  hav 
ing  any  definite  theme.  I  have  several  times  passed  through  the 
same  phase,  but  I  find  that  it  always  results  in  the  finding  of  a 
theme.  Of  late  years  my  chief  trouble  has  been  the  accumula 
tion  of  poetic  subjects  in  my  mind.  "  Lars,"  for  example,  has 
haunted  me  for  a  long  while,  and  persistently  stood  between  me 
and  a  much  more  important  conception,  for  the  expression  of 
which  I  am  hardly  yet  ripe  enough.  Now  that  the  first  is  com 
pleted,  the  latter  stands  out  clear  and  unobstructed,  and  I  have  a 
fresh  delight  in  contemplating  it. 

.  .  .  Our  plans  are  all  in  suspense.  We  shall  leave  here  in 
about  three  weeks,  put  L.  in  a  school  in  Baden-Baden,  and  then 
go  to  Lausanne,  where  we  shall  stay  with  my  sister  until  certain 
business  matters  are  settled  one  way  or  another.  Beyond  that 
point  I  plan  nothing.  Scribners  have  announced  to  me  the  stop 
page  of  the  "  Library  of  Travel,"  so  I  have  now  only  a  school 
history  of  Germany  to  prepare  for  Appletons,  and  then  I  shall 
be  free  for  my  own  especial  task.  I  have  given  up  all  idea  of 
resting  or  merely  loafing  here  in  Europe.  Both  necessity  and 
conscience  force  me  to  work.  .  .  . 

TO   JOHN   G.    WHITTIER. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  December  30,  1872. 

The  "  Pennsylvania  Pilgrim  "  came  to  me  as  a  Christmas  gift, 
all  the  more  welcome  because  so  unexpected.  I  have  just  fin 
ished  reading  it,  and  can  now  return  intelligent  thanks  for  your 
thoughtful  kindness  in  sending  the  volume  so  far.  Yet  one 


LARS.  611 

reading  cannot  exhaust  the  fullness  of  meaning  and  of  feeling  in 
the  chief  poem.  I  was  not  more  attracted  by  the  story  of  Pas- 
torius  (of  whom  I  knew  almost  nothing)  than  by  the  warm, 
bright  background  of  tolerance  and  mellow  humanity,  upon 
which  his  figure  is  drawn.  The  latter  is  like  the  ground  of  dead 
gold  which  the  early  Italian  painters  gave  to  the  forms  of  their 
saints,  only  more  luminous. 

But,  mixed  with  my  delight  in  the  poem  from  first  to  last, 
there  is  a  feeling  of  surprise  which  I  can  only  explain  by  telling 
you  what  /  have  been  doing.  Three  months  ago  I  was  moved  to 
begin  a  narrative  poem,  the  conception  of  which  had  been  haunt 
ing  my  mind  for  five  or  six  years.  Once  begun,  I  could  not 
leave  the  subject ;  I  dropped  all  other  work,  and  by  the  begin 
ning  of  November  had  finished  an  idyllic  narrative  poem  of  more 
than  2,100  lines,  in  blank  verse.  The  title  is  "  Lars,"  and  the 
scene  is  laid  partly  in  Norway  and  partly  on  the  banks  of  the 
Delaware. 

I  have  brought  Quaker  peace  and  Berserker  rage  into  con 
flict,  and  given  the  triumph  to  the  former.  The  one  bit  of  fact 
out  of  which  the  poem  grew  is  the  circumstance  that  there  is  — 
or  at  least  was  —  a  small  community  of  Friends  at  Arendal  in 
Norway.  The  story  is  wholly  of  my  own  invention.  Now,  in 
describing  a  "  silent  meeting  "  I  have  expressed  the  same 
thought  which  I  find  in  the  "  Pilgrim,"  — 

"  The  gathered  stillness  multiplied 
And  made  intense  by  sympathy." 

And  the  conclusion  of  my  poem  is  exactly  the  same  thought, 
in  other  words,  as  the  conclusion  of  yours.  I  will  quote  from 
my  MS.  :  — 

"  Though  the  name  of  Lars 
Be  never  heard,  the  healing  of  the  world 
Is  in  its  nameless  saints.     Each  separate  star 
Seems  nothing,  but  a  myriad  scattered  stars 
Break  up  the  Night,  and  make  it  beautiful." 

It  is  pleasant  to  me  to  know  that  we  have  both  been  busy  with 
the  same,  or  kindred  thoughts.  When  I  sent  the  MS.  of  my 
poem  to  Osgood  three  weeks  ago,  I  also  sent  a  dedicatory  poem, 
which  is  more  than  ever  justified  by  this  coincidence.  I  requested 
Osgood  to  let  you  see  the  MS.  or  the  proofs  if  there  should  be 
opportunity.  But  if  any  charge  of  plagiarism  is  made,  it  will 
fall  upon  me  !  The  absence  of  music,  color,  and  external  graces 
makes  the  Quaker  a  difficult  subject  for  poetry,  unless  the  lat- 


612  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

ter  touches  only  his  spiritual  side,  which  I  have  endeavored  to 
do.  I  depend  on  my  Norwegian  characters  for  whatever  exter 
nal  picturesqueness  seemed  to  be  necessary.  I  feel  sure  that 
there  are  some  things  in  the  poem  which  you  will  like,  and  I 
hope  there  may  be  nothing  in  it  to  make  the  dedication  unwel 
come.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  cried  over  many  pas 
sages  while  writing. 

The  collection  of  materials  for  my  biography  of  Goethe  goes 
rapidly  on,  but  the  work  itself  must  be  done  slowly.  I  shall 
take  my  time  to  it,  and  meanwhile  be  able,  I  hope,  to  work  out 
other  poetic  ideas  which  are  waiting  for  their  turn.  After  many 
wanderings  of  mind  and  fancy,  I  seem  to  have  found  my  true 
field  :  at  least  I  am  happy  in  my  work,  as  never  before. 

Three  weeks  ago  I  gave  a  lecture  here,  in  German,  on  Ameri 
can  Literature,  in  aid  of  a  charitable  society  of  women.  It  was 
my  first  experiment  of  the  kind,  but  proved  to  be  successful. 
Among  other  quotations  I  read  an  excellent  translation  of  your 
"  Song  of  the  Slaves  in  the  Desert,"  which  made  a  deep  impres 
sion  upon  the  audience.  I  have  several  times,  since  then,  been 
called  upon  to  read  it  in  private  circles. 

We  shall  go  to  Switzerland,  perhaps  to  Italy,  for  two  or  three 
months,  and  then  come  back  here  again  to  my  labors.  If  you 
should  be  able  to  read  my  "  Lars  "  within  a  month  after  getting 
this,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  what  impression  it  makes  upon  the 
one  who  was  most  in  my  mind  as  I  wrote.  The  memory  of 
Elizabeth,  also,  came  back  to  me  very  clearly  and  tenderly. 

TO   JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  December  30,  1872. 

Your  letter  came  as  a  Christmas  gift,  and  G.'s  followed  the 
next  day.  Well,  —  your  moral  heaven  is  brighter,  and  so  is 
mine  :  that 's  the  best  news.  I  allow  for  depression  in  others 
much  more  readily  than  in  myself,  I  suppose  because  it  conflicts 
more  violently  with  my  born  nature,  the  latter  being  joyous, 
hopeful,  almost  epicurean  in  some  things.  But,  good  Heaven  ! 
if  I  had  written  to  you  on  the  18th  of  December  instead  of  the 
18th  of  November  !  At  the  latter  date  I  was  still  making  a  tol 
erable  fight  against  disturbing  cimimstances.  I  held  out  until 
the  10th  of  December  ;  then,  as  the  enemy  pressed  harder  and 
no  relief  corps  showed  itself,  I  ignominiously  hoisted  the  white 
flag,  saw  all  my  breastworks  of  pride  and  philosophy  carried, 


LARS.  613 

gave  up  ray  sword,  and  was  sent  to  the  rear.  Such  a  self-sur 
render  is  all  the  more  abject  when  it  follows  a  long  resistance. 
With  me  it  expressed  itself  in  painful  nervous  restlessness,  an 
inability  to  work,  a  morbid  dislike  to  society,  and  an  utter  lack 
of  faith  in  the  future.  For  ten  days  I  was  honestly  wretched  ; 
then  the  mood,  having  exhausted  itself,  passed  away,  and  better 
news  came  immediately.  All  my  depression  was  unnecessary  ; 
as  it  was,  I  think  it  was  the  shock  of  Greeley's  death  which  gave 
the  finishing  stroke.  I  am  still  in  a  state  of  considerable  doubt 
and  uncertainty,  but  endure  it  now  cheerfully,  and  have  all  my 
usual  hopefulness  again. 

I  had  a  strong  p'ersonal  affection  for  Greeley  :  I  partly  grew 
up  with  him  and  the  "  Tribune  ; "  he  was  always  kind  and  help 
ful,  and  to  be  trusted  in  any  emergency,  so  that  his  death  comes 
nearer  to  me  than  would  that  of  many  a  relative.  Besides,  it 
came  upon  me  so  suddenly.  One  day  the  telegraph  simply  re 
ported  that  he  was  ill  ;  but  I  knew  his  good  constitution  and  felt 
no  anxiety.  The  next  day  —  he  was  dead  !  This  sudden  end 
ing,  after  all  the  vile  and  cruel  abuse  poured  upon  him  through 
the  campaign,  was  really  tragic.  I  wonder  how  such  men  as 
Douglass,  Gerrit  Smith,  etc.,  feel  now.  For  my  part,  I  am 
done  with  political  parties  from  this  time  on.  I  see  no  more 
personal  honesty  or  fairness  in  the  leading  Republican  politi 
cians  than  in  the  Democrats.  The  war  is  over,  and  its  results 
secured  ;  now  I  am  free  to  support  a  good  man  wherever  I  find 
him,  and  to  hate  the  character  of  our  party  strife  on  one  side  as 
well  as  on  the  other. 

.  .  .  Did  I  tell  you  that  I  was  to  give  a  lecture  here,  in  Ger 
man,  on  American  Literature  ?  It  came  off  on  the  12th,  and 
was  a  great  pecuniary  success  for  the  Ladies'  Charitable  Society. 
I  read  several  poems,  both  English  and  German,  —  among  oth 
ers,  Poe's  "  Raven "  in  German,  —  and  greatly  astonished  the 
people  by  what  they  considered  a  very  artistic  declamation,  but 
which  in  America  would  be  the  ordinary  lecture  tone.  The  fact 
is,  we  are,  in  simple,  common-sense  views  of  Art  and  Literature, 
ahead  of  any  people  in  Europe.  I  see  now,  more  clearly  than 
ever,  that  if  you  and  I  (for  instance)  are  true  to  our  high  calling 
in  New  York,  we  shall  receive  in  the  end  a  heartier  appreciation 
there  than  we  could  ever  get  abroad.  Where  a  people  are  in 
their  pupilage  there  is  always  more  earnestness,  more  force  of  as 
piration,  than  when  they  think  themselves  fully  developed,  and 


614  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

—  as  now  in  Europe  —  have  become  a  little  blase.  Let  us  only 
hold  on  :  if  we  live  long  enough,  a  day  will  come  to  reward  our 
faith  ! 

I  wish  you  had  told  me  a  little  about  Page's  "  Shakespeare  :  " 
I  am  curious  to  know  something  of  it.  Also,  what  do  you  think 
of  Le  dear's  me  ?  How  are  all  the  good  fellows  at  the  Cen 
tury  ?  It  gives  me  a  slight  pang  to  think  of  that  old  smoky 
corner.  You  can't  possibly  miss  us  more  than  we  do  you. 
When  we  get  back,  I  think  we  shall  be  less  willing  to  leave  than 
ever  before.  But  I  must  get  the  material  and  make  the  studies 
for  my  biography  of  Goethe  while  here,  and  also  give  L.  the  ad 
vantage  of  a  good  school.  We  keep  our  health,  fortunately  ;  I 
am  physically  much  stronger  than  a  year  ago,  and  one  or  two 
troubles  I  had  have  nearly  disappeared.  I  find  that  with  every 
additional  year  my  anxiety  about  the  future  becomes  less,  —  and 
this  is  a  gain  to  balance  many  minor  losses.  Your  letter  really 
cheered  both  of  us,  and  some  cheer  (although  the  worst  was 
over)  was  needed.  I  feel  entirely  free  to  give  you,  always,  an 
honest  picture  of  my  mental  and  moral  condition,  and  you  must 
not  withhold  your  depressions  in  return,  for  they  belong  to  your 
life.  This  is  the  great  relief  and  blessing  of  our  correspondence, 
and  any  feeling  of  restraint,  on  either  side,  would  take  away  from 
its  value. 

TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  January  3,  1873. 

...  I  have  entirely  gotten  over  my  discouragement,  and  am 
at  work  again.  We  have  enough  to  pay  everything,  including 
the  advance  on  L.'s  schooling,  and  to  live  in  Lausanne  until  the 
middle  of  February. 

By  April  next  I  think  everything  will  be  decided,  —  the  sale 
of  Cedarcrof t,  your  pension,  my  connection  with  the  "  Tribune," 
my  new  volume,  and  other  minor  matters.  So  let  us  have 
patience  for  three  months  more.  Even  if  every  other  prospect 
proves  to  be  unfortunate,  the  sale  of  one  share  will  enable  me  to 
wait  for  better  times.  ...  I  have  begun  work  on  my  School 
History,  which,  if  it  prove  successful,  will  yield  me  more  than 
all  my  Tribune  shares.  I  hope  to  finish  it  by  July.  The  one 
necessity  now  is  money  and  freedom  from  anxiety,  which  the  sale 
of  a  share  will  give  me.  Since  I  have  decided  to  do  this,  I  feel 
perfectly  easy  in  mind. 


LARS.  615 

The  MS.  of  "  Lars  "  reached  America  safely,  and 
was  read  by  Mr.  Osgood  and  Mr.  Aldrich,  who  both 
advised  the  substitution  of  some  other  name  for  the 
title  of  the  book.  They  doubted  if  the  public  would 
take  kindly  to  a  poem  so  briefly,  and,  to  most,  unintel 
ligibly  named.  It  was  curious,  when  the  announce 
ment  of  the  book  was  made,  to  see  what  blunders  that 
part  of  the  public  made  which  is  engaged  in  instruct 
ing  the  rest  of  the  public.  One  critic  pointed  out 
the  error  in  the  Latinity  of  the  name.  It  should  be 
"Lares,"  he  said.  Another  explained  that  Bayard 
Taylor  was  indebted  to  Macaulay  for  the  idea  of  the 
poem,  which  was  taken  from  the  story  of  "  Lars  Por- 
senna."  His  friends  also  suggested  to  Bayard  Tay 
lor  the  expediency  of  putting  the  poem  out  anony 
mously. 

TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD   AND  T.   B.   ALDRICH. 
LAUSANNE,  SWITZERLAND,  Sunday,  January  26,  1873. 

The  two  letters  of  the  10th,  anent  "  Lars,"  reached  me  last 
night.  I  should  be  quite  willing  to  try  the  experiment  of  an 
anonymous  publication,  but,  unfortunately,  it  is  too  late.  I  have 
written  about  the  poem  to  several  friends  in  New  York  and 
Pennsylvania,  have  signed  the  contract  with  Strahan  &  Co.,  and 
sent  the  proofs,  and  I  don't  think  Strahan  &  Co.  (who  now  seem 
very  glad  to  get  the  poem)  would  be  willing  to  drop  my  name, 
to  which  the  "  Faust "  has  given  some  little  value  in  England. 
The  main  fact  is,  the  secret  could  not  be  kept  now ;  had  I 
thought  of  it  sooner,  it  would  have  been  quite  easy,  but  the  idea 
of  "  making  a  sensation  "  never  entered  my  mind. 

As  for  the  title,  I  assert  that  no  title  can  be  "  fatal "  to  a  good 
poem  ;  and  I  think  "  Lars  "  rather  better  than  average  titles.  It 
is  brief,  strong,  Scandinavian,  and  therefore  picturesque,  has 
never  been  used,  and  is  the  only  name  which  can  be  applied  to  the 
whole  poem.  "  Brita's  Lovers  "  would  only  apply  to  Book  I.,  and, 
moreover,  it  is  a  title  after  Miss  Braddon's,  or  Mrs.  Henry 
Wood's  own  heart !  "  Mildred's  Lovers  !  "  "  Sylvia's  Lovers  ! " 
No,  no !  none  o'  that !  "  Lars "  is  a  great  deal  better  than 


616  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

"  Enoch  Arden."  The  fact  is,  fancy  titles  have  been  run  into 
the  ground  :  a  good  work  will  always  make  its  own  title  popular. 
Now,  look  at  the  list  of  titles  of  the  principal  idyllic  poems  in 
literature  :  Voss,  "  Louise  ; "  Goethe,  "  Hermann  und  Dorothea  ; " 
Lamartine,  "  Jacqueline  ; "  Tennyson,  "  Enoch  Arden  ; "  Long 
fellow,  "  Evangeline."  Except  the  last,  and  perhaps  "  Hermann 
und  Dorothea,"  "  Lars  "  is  as  good  as,  if  not  better  than,  these 
names.  Your  objection,  T.,  must  arise  from  some  sort  of  per 
sonal  dislike  to  the  sound  of  the  word.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
given  it  thorough  consideration :  I  have  tried  all  other  possible 
titles,  but  with  each  one  a  spirit  whispered  in  my  ear,  "  Lars ! 
Lars  !  "  I  feel  that  "  Lars  "  becomes  my  complexion  best,  and 
"  Lars  "  it  must  be,  If  you  had  given  a  distinct  reason  for  your 
dislike,  I  could  better  feel  its  force,  but  I  can  imagine  no  rea 
son  against  a  simple  name,  except  its  sound.  I  '11  predict  one 
thing :  if  the  poem  is  well  received  at  the  start,  the  name  will 
immediately  become  popular. 

I  cannot  telegraph  this  decision,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
I  've  not  money  enough  in  pocket  for  the  dispatch.  I  've  had 
to  telegraph  twice  to  New  York  concerning  my  interest  in  the 
"  Tribune,"  and  an  expense  of  fourteen  dollars  (gold)  just  now 
would  bankrupt  me.  We  have  exactly  enough  to  pay  for  lodg 
ing  and  plain  fare  for  a  fortnight,  when  my  remittances  are  due. 
So  the  venture  must  be  made  as  it  stands  ;  but  if  you  both  think 
there  's  a  chance  for  decided  success,  pray  give  my  poem  the 
benefit  of  all  legitimate  devices.  Strahan's  publication  and  the 
English  notices  (if  favorable)  may  be  a  considerable  help.  If 
the  same  public  which  read  "  Enoch  Arden  "  can  be  made  to 
look  at  it,  I  think  the  story  will  make  its  way.  It  cannot  be  as 
sailed,  except  on  literary  grounds.  Its  moral  and  religious  char 
acter  is  unexceptionable. 

Your  verdict,  T.,  brought  joy  to  my  heart :  it  was  exactly  what 
I  wanted  to  hear  said  of  the  poem.  In  spite  of  all  previous  dis 
appointments,  I  can't  help  hoping  again.  My  next  poetical  plan 
is  something  equally  as  different  from  all  former  verse  of  mine, 
something  entirely  new,  and,  in  fact,  almost  startling,  in  which 
the  dull  public  (or  even  critical)  mind  will  never  recognize  me. 
In  a  year  or  so,  I  hope,  I  shall  be  able  to  conspire  with  you  for 
an  anonymous  publication. 


LARS.  617 


TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD. 
LAUSANNE,  SWITZERLAND,  January  30,  1873. 

Eureka  !  I  think  I  have  discovered  a  way  to  assuage  the 
anguish  which  I  fear  you  must  have  felt,  on  reading  my  last  let 
ter.  I  knew  that  both  you  and  Aldrich  would  be  disgusted  with 
my  stubbornness,  and  yet,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could  not  change 
the  title.  Why  did  n't  I  sooner  think  of  a  sub-title  ?  I  don't 
know  :  but  to-day,  still  pondering  on  the  matter,  it  flashed  across 
my  mind  as  a  possible  compromise  between  our  views.  Thus  : 
"  Lars  :  A  Pastoral  of  Norway."  Does  not  that  make  the 
publishing  side  of  your  heart  thrill  ?  Think  of  Bjornstjerne 
Biornsen  and  the  Norwegian  idyls  !  —  by  the  bye,  I  won't  say 
idyl,  because  of  Tennyson.  "  Pastoral "  is  the  word  ;  it  is  more 
grassy,  clovery,  and  homelike.  I  can  understand  that  multi 
tudes  would  not  know  whether  "  Lars  "  was  a  name,  a  chemical 
substance,  or  a  plant ;  but  the  sub-title  ought  to  be  explanatory 
and  attractive  at  the  same  time.  I  shall  send  it  to  Strahan  & 
Co.  at  once,  and  you  may  announce  it  on  enormous  yellow  post 
ers. 

When  I  see  you  you  will  regale  me  with  broiled  oysters  for 
this  concession,  or  cod's  tongue,  a  dish  I  have  only  found  in  Bos 
ton.  May  we  then  be  able  to  drink  to  the  150th  thousand  of 
"  Lars  :  A  Pastoral  of  Norway." 

The  weather  during  Bayard  Taylor's  s.tay  at  Lau 
sanne  was  exceedingly  disagreeable,  and  brought  on  a 
bronchial  difficulty  which  gave  him  great  trouble,  but 
he  would  not  relinquish  work.  He  had  placed  his 
daughter  in  school  at  Baden-Baden,  and  in  the  middle 
of  February  he  left  Lausanne  with  his  wife  for  Italy. 

TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

FLORENCE,  ITALY,  February  27,  1873. 

.  .  .  We  went  direct  to  Marseilles,  and  there  found  sunshine 
and  warmth.  Traveling  along  the  Mediterranean  shore  toward 
Genoa,  through  magnificent  orange-groves,  with  roses,  violets, 
and  anemones  everywhere  in  blossom,  green  peas  and  fresh  to 
matoes  on  the  table,  my  cough  and  hoarseness  grew  lighter  every 
day,  and  now  I  am  perfectly  well,  always  hungry,  and  with  a 


618  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

great  capacity  for  sleep.  We  reached  here  last  Saturday,  and 
came  direct  to  Mrs.  Baranowsky  [Casa  Guidi],  where  we  have 
very  nice  quarters.  Grahams  l  wanted  us  to  go  to  them,  but  we 
declined  on  account  of  my  needing  at  least  half  of  each  day  for 
my  own  work.  Dr.  Wilson  came  round  immediately  to  see  us, 
and  finds  me  looking  remarkably  well.  Powers  has  not  been 
well  for  some  months,  and  looks  a  great  deal  older  than  when 
we  saw  him  last.  The  weather  here  is  very  mild  (about  like  the 
early  part  of  May  with  us),  but  there  is  a  good  deal  of  rain  yet, 
and  we  can  only  walk  out  about  every  other  day.  Still  the  sight 
of  green  grass  and  flowers  and  fruit-trees  in  bloom  is  very  de 
lightful. 

TO  JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

CASA  GUIDI,  FLORENCE,  March  12,  1873. 

It  is  an  unconscionable  while  to  make  you  wait  for  an  answer 
to  yours  of  January  19th.  It  reached  me  in  Lausanne,  just  as 
I  was  taken  with  a  severe  bronchial  cold,  accompanied  by  loss  of 
voice,  so  I  was  not  able  to  write  with  any  comfort.  We  left 
there  before  I  was  quite  well,  went  down  the  Rhone  to  Mar 
seilles,  then  along  the  shore  to  Cannes,  Nice,  and  by  the  Cornice 
Road  to  Genoa.  It  was  a  heavenly  change  from  the  slushy 
weather  of  Switzerland  :  we  plunged  into  summer,  sat  under 
palm  and  orange  trees,  plucked  red  anemones  by  the  road-side, 
basked  in  perfect  sunshine,  and  were  happy.  We  reached  here 
on  the  22d,  found  rooms  in  the  Casa  Guidi,  and  have  been  quiet 
and  laborious  Florentines  ever  since.  Of  course  I  am  perfectly 
well  again,  and  Dr.  Wilson,  who  pulled  me  back  to  life  five 
years  ago,  says  I  am  an  excellent  specimen.  I  brought  my  work 
along,  and  manage  to  write  about  the  substance  of  seven  or  eight 
printed  octavo  pages  every  day.  You  may  judge  of  my  applica 
tion  by  the  fact  that  I  had  not  set  foot  within  a  gallery  until 
this  morning.  I  am  again  a  drudge,  and  working  solely  for 
money,  but  my  job  is  interesting  and  rather  attractive  than  other 
wise,  so  I  must  be  content.  It  is  a  great  blessing  to  be  here, 
in  the  midst  of  flowers,  with  the  young  green  thickening  over  all 
the  trees. 

I  called  on  Miss  S.  as  soon  as  we  got  settled,  and  we  have 
both  met  her  since  at  Gray's  2  reception.  She  is  looking  very 
well,  and  seems  to  have  a  great  attachment  to  Italy.  She  has 

1  J.  Lorimer  Graham  Jr.  was  at  that  time  American  Consul  at  Florence. 

2  H.  P.  Gray,  the  artist,  then  in  Florence. 


LARS.  619 

not  yet  found  a  chance  of  going  home,  but  I  believe  expects  to 
have  one  in  July,  if  not  sooner.  Gray  is  nicely  fixed  here  :  he 
has  painted  two  very  good  pictures,  one  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Gra 
ham,  and  they  have  brought  him  fresh  orders.  ...  I  have  called 
on  all  the  old  residents  and  friends  here,  except  Hart  and  Mead, 
whom  I  shall  see  soon.  Powers  has  not  been  well  ;  he  looks 
thin  and  spiritual,  and  his  eyes  are  brighter  than  ever.  I  fear 
he  will  not  be  long  with  us.  Dix  died  at  Rome  yesterday.  I 
spent  last  evening  in  company  with  Emerson  and  his  daughter  at 
Graham's.  They  have  a  charming  place,  spacious  and  luxurious, 
but  not  oppressively  so.  They  received  us  with  open  arms,  and 
are  the  same  hospitable,  generous  creatures  as  always  heretofore. 
.  .  .  We  have  seen  much  of  them  since  arriving,  and  are  very 
glad  to  find  them  unchanged.  Florence  is  more  homelike  to  me 
than  ever  ;  I  find  that  I  have  not  forgotten  a  street,  hardly  a 
house,  but  go  about  as  if  I  had  always  lived  here.  I  think  there 
must  be  near  one  thousand  Americans  here  ;  three  hundred  came 
to  Gray's  reception,  and  they  were  certainly  not  more  than  one 
third  of  all.  In  spite  of  the  capital  being  moved  to  Rome  I 
never  saw  the  streets  so  crowded,  and  whole  blocks  of  houses 
are  going  up.  The  new  drive  around  San  Miniato  is  one  of  the 
finest  things  in  Europe. 

We  shall  go  to  Rome  for  ten  days,  in  about  a  week,  then  re 
main  here  until  April  20th,  when  we  return  to  Germany.  .  .  . 
I  shall  very  likely  go  to  Vienna,  to  write  for  the  "  Tribune," 
during  May.  My  history  will  keep  me  busy  until  the  end  of 
July,  and  I  can't  take  a  holiday  sooner.  I  want  to  stay  until  the 
summer  of  next  year  to  complete  the  studies  for  Goethe's  life. 
I  have  been  collecting  material  for  some  months,  but  cannot  un 
dertake  the  work  seriously  until  this  task  is  off  my  hands. 
Emerson  seems  to  feel  a  great  interest  in  it  ;  we  had  a  long  talk 
about  it  last  evening.  Since  the  "  Tribune  "  is  safe  in  Reid's 
hands.  I  feel  easier  about  the  future.  The  other  matter  is  still 
undecided,  but  I  have  ceased  to  worry.  The  one  thing  is  to  keep 
occupied,  and  then  the  blue  devils  drop  their  tails  and  run.  I 
now  wish  the  days  were  longer  :  they  go  too  fast  for  me.  What 
a  waste  of  time  there  is  in  "  calls  "  !  Really,  one  is  forced  to 
choose  between  society  and  serious  work.  No  man  can  do  his 
conventional  duty,  and  then  accomplish  anything  else,  —  and  the 
absurdity  is,  people  expect  it  of  me  !  I  dread  being  introduced, 
lest  1  should  receive  another  "  call,"  which  must  be  answered, 


620  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

or  offense  is  given.     This  carrying  New  York  and  London  with 
one  wherever  you  go  is  growing  to  be  a  curse. 

Well,  my  new  poem  is  out,  and  I  shall  wait  with  great  inter 
est  to  hear  your  verdict.  I  have  heard  none  as  yet,  except  from 
Aldrich,  who  votes  "  yea."  How  I  long  for  the  leisure  to  begin 
something  new  which  already  haunts  me  !  But  I  must  hold  it 
off  at  arm's  length,  with  a  tight  grip  on  its  throat.  The  sheet 
is  coming  to  an  end,  and  I  have  hardly  said  anything.  Your 
letter,  with  all  the  particulars  about  dear  old  Kensett,  was  most 
welcome.  /  shall  like  your  commemorative  picture.  What  you 
say  of  the  reaction  against  foreign  art  is  encouraging  :  I  have 
been  waiting  for  this.  Next  we  must  have  a  reaction  against 
the  fashions  in  literature,  and  that  will  come,  I  know,  sooner 
than  the  successful  quacks  anticipate.  .  .  . 

TO   T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

FLORENCE,  March  29, 1873. 

Last  night  we  returned  from  an  eight  days'  trip  to  Rome,  and 
I  find  a  "  Lars  "  in  sheets  waiting  for  me.  It  is  much  hand 
somer  than  Strahan's  edition.  I  ran  through  it  rapidly,  and 
found  only  one  error,  —  "  Rinkan "  instead  of  "  Riwkan,"  — 
which  is  not  a  painful  one  ;  since  the  few  who  are  familiar  with 
Norwegian  names  will  see  that  it  is  a  misprint.  Otherwise,  it 
seems  to  me  perfect,  and  I  owe  you  many  a  good  turn  for  your 
kind  attention  to  my  sense,  spelling,  and  punctuation.  I  've  al 
ready  seen  two  notices,  in  the  Boston  "  Advertiser  "  and  "  Globe," 
both  just  the  things  I  hoped  would  be  said.  So,  thus  far,  the 
aspects  look  well,  and  I  will  dare  to  hope  for  a  meek,  modest 
success. 

Emerson  was  here  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I  saw  him  twice.  He 
tells  me  that  Lowell  is  still  in  Paris.  In  Rome  I  saw  Story  (who 
has  sculped  a  magnificent  Jerusalem  and  Electra),  who  does  not 
expect  Lowell  in  Italy  this  season,  so  I  shall  probably  not  meet 
the  latter.  Story  told  me  that  Browning  sent  him  the  "  Echo 
Club  "  last  summer,  with  a  note  saying  it  was  the  best  thing  of 
the  kind  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  if  he  had  found  the  imita 
tions  of  himself  in  a  volume  of  his  poems  he  would  have  believed 
that  he  actually  wrote  them  !  The  American  painters  in  Rome 
had  also  read  the  "  Echo  Club,"  and  chuckled  over  it  in  my 
presence,  not  suspecting  the  author.  I  really  thought  the  arti 
cles  had  fallen  upon  the  "  Atlantic  "  readers  without  effect,  and 
here  I  find  an  evidence  to  the  contrary. 


LARS.  621 

We  are  living  very  quietly  here.  I  have  brought  my  work 
along,  and  write  five  or  six  hours  every  day,  which  accounts  for 
my  not  writing  to  you  sooner.  My  "  History  of  Germany,"  for 
schools,  is  going  on  steadily,  and  I  hope,  when  finished,  that  it 
will  kindle  a  better  fire  under  the  household  pot  than  all  my 
good  work  has  done.  I  must  also  take  six  or  eight  months  to 
complete  the  collection  of  material  for  Goethe's  life  before  re 
turning  home.  This,  however,  will  be  no  labor,  but  an  unmiti 
gated  delight. 

TO  HANNAH   M.   DARLINGTON. 

FLORENCE,  ITALY,  April  5,  1873. 

.  .  .  You  will  have  seen  before  this  what  I  wrote  last  fall. 
I  do  not  know  how  it  will  be  received  by  the  public,  but  the  few 
friends  who  have  read  the  poem  are  satisfied  with  it.  The  plan 
has  been  in  my  head  for  five  or  six  years,  and  as  it  is  probably 
the  last  poem  I  shall  write  embodying  home  (that  is,  Pennsyl 
vania  or  Quaker)  elements,  I  tried  to  do  my  best.  The  story 
is  entirely  my  own  invention.  I  must  say  that  if  the  Quakers 
are  not  satisfied  with  my  presentation  of  them  and  their  peace 
ful  creed,  they  do  not  deserve  a  place  in  our  literature.  My  ex 
periences,  however,  have  taught  me  not  to  hope  for  much  imme 
diate  recognition  either  of  this  work  or  of  any  other  I  may  write. 
But  I  am  quite  content  with  the  appreciation  of  the  few  best 
minds.  I  would  rather  exercise  a  slow  and  cumulative  influence 
than  enjoy  (?)  any  amount  of  temporary  popularity.  There  is 
a  great  satisfaction  in  working  up  towards  an  ideal  which  at 
least  seems  high  to  one's  own  eyes.  I  doubt  whether  any  author 
can  estimate  his  own  success  or  failure.  .  .  . 

The  length  of  our  stay  in  Europe  is  still  uncertain.  I  cannot 
complete  my  History  before  July  or  August,  and  therefore  can 
not  sooner  than  then  begin  my  studies  for  Goethe's  life.  I  have 
collected  a  good  deal  of  material,  but  that  is  not  enough.  My 
plan  is,  to  have  all  I  need  prepared  or  collected  before  going 
home,  and  then  I  shall  begin  to  write.  It  will  be  a  work  of 
three  years'  labor  at  least.  As  for  our  return  to  Cedarcroft,  I 
do  not,  I  must  confess,  see  the  way  clear.  It  was  a  great  mis 
take  to  suppose  that  I  could  attend  to  the  details  of  business  in  a 
country  home,  and  go  on  with  a  serious  literary  work  at  the  same 
time.  The  absence  of  large  libraries  and  such  literary  counsel 
ors  as  can  be  found  only  in  a  large  city  is  an  equal  drawback. 


622  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

So  long  as  I  wrote  merely  superficial  descriptive  works  I  did  not 
feel  the  difficulty  ;  but  now,  when  I  must  divide  my  time  between 
earnest,  absorbing  study  and  entire  rest  and  recreation,  a  change 
in  our  manner  of  life  becomes  inevitable.  If  Philadelphia  were 
Boston,  and  Kennett  Concord,  I  might  manage  to  stay,  by  re 
ducing  my  property  to  a  few  acres.  Few  men,  I  think,  are 
more  attached  to  their  early  associations  than  I  am,  but  when  a 
more  important  duty,  when  the  necessity  of  my  aim  in  life  comes 
between  me  and  them,  what  should  I  do  ? 

"  Lars  "  was  published  in  London  March  1st,  and 
in  Boston  March  8,  1873. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  PROPHET. 

1873-1874. 

And  still  some  cheaper  service  claims 

The  will  that  leaps  to  loftier  call ; 
Some  cloud  is  cast  on  splendid  aims, 

On  power  achieved  some  common  thrall. 

Implora  Pace. 

MR.  REID,  in  his  plans  for  the  rehabilitation  of  the 
"  Tribune,"  was  glad  to  take  advantage  of  Bayard 
Taylor's  residence  in  Europe  to  obtain  from  him  some 
special  letters  upon  the  Vienna  Exhibition,  then  about 
to  open.  The  "  Tribune  "  might  make  no  dividends 
to  its  stockholders,  but  it  was  a  good  paymaster  to  its 
contributors,  and  Bayard  Taylor,  compelled  now  to 
live  from  hand  to  mouth,  dropped  his  work  on  the 
"History  of  Germany"  and  went  to  Vienna  for  a 
month,  for  the  purpose  of  describing  the  enterprise  in 
general  terms  and  especially  of  reporting  promptly 
the  scenes  at  the  opening.  It  was  not  proposed  that 
he  should  describe  the  Exhibition  in  detail.  That  was 
left  to  his  associates,  Mr.  "W.  J.  Stillman  and  Mr. 
E.  V.  Smalley,  who  were  on  the  ground  with  him  and 
remained  after  he  left. 

He  threw  himself  into  the  task  with  all  the  ardor 
of  a  newspaper  man  who  is  carrying  the  colors  of  his 
enterprise.  He  not  only  succeeded  in  distancing  the 
representatives  of  other  papers  and  sending  a  series 

VOL.  II.  14 


624  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

of  letters  which  gave  full  and  graphic  reports,  but  he 
worked  indef atigably  for  the  interests  of  the  paper  in 
other  ways,  making  it  the  most  conspicuous  of  the 
American  journals  in  the  eyes  of  the  Viennese.  This 
done,  he  hastened  back  to  Gotha  to  take  up  his  His 
tory,  which  he  was  impatient  to  complete. 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

VIENNA,  Saturday  evening,  May  3, 1873. 

I  am  pretty  well  used  up,  physically,  by  this  evening,  but  shall 
be  all  right  again  after  a  good  night's  rest.  Stillman  and  I  have 
been  working  together  ever  since  April  24th,  when  I  arrived,  and 
have  done  all  we  planned  to  do.  Everything  relating  to  the  open 
ing  was  made  difficult  by  the  delay  and  confusion  of  the  Austrian 
officials.  They  kept  no  promises  ;  the  cards  of  admission,  the 
advance  copies  of  the  speeches,  and  other  minor  privileges,  could 
only  be  obtained  after  repeated  personal  interviews.  The  hacks 
were  all  on  a  strike,  and  we  ran  back  and  forth  on  our  own  legs. 
The  landlord  threatened  to  turn  us  out  by  announcing  a  charge 
of  twelve  dollars  per  day  for  my  room,  instead  of  four  dollars, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  hunt  other  quarters.  Finally,  I  got  a 
small  back  chamber  for  three  dollars. 

You  will  see  how  we  divided  our  work.  Stillman  had  his  copy 
ready  by  two  o'clock,  and  got  possession  of  the  wire,  which  we 
kept  (having  made  a  previous  arrangement  with  the  officials)  un 
til  we  finished.  I  sent  half  of  mine  at  three,  and  took  the  other 

half  at  four,  when  of  the  made  his  first  appearance. 

Our  first  number  was  112  and  's  129.     Then  came  Forbes, 

of  the  London  "  News,"  and  after  him  the  rest ;  but  all  had  to 

wait  for  us.     The  New  York sent  a  special  messenger  to 

Queenstown  to  catch  to-day's  steamer,  while  by  telegraphing  we 
have  caught  Thursday's.  Smalley  got  his  share  finished  about 
half-past  five. 

...  I  did  my  best,  at  the  journalists'  banquet,  to  make  capi 
tal  for  the  "  Tribune,"  and  succeeded.  It  was  a  little  too  cool  in 
Yates  to  get  up  and  be  presented  as  an  American,  and  speak  in 
the  name  of  the  American  press  (in  fearful  German),  without 
calling  upon  one  of  us  natives.  I  did  what  I  never  did  before,  — 
privately  demanded  of  the  president  a  chance  to  speak,  —  and  in 
ten  minutes  stirred  up  the  only  real  enthusiasm  of  the  evening. 


THE  PROPHET.  625 

Austrian  editors  and  Prussian,  French,  and  Swedish,  crowded 
around  me  to  shake  hands  and  to  thank  me  for  striking  the  key 
note  of  what  journalism  should  be.  I  made,  accidentally,  a  new 
German  word,1  —  an  entirely  correct  one,  —  which  has  greatly 
tickled  the  fancy  of  the  editors  here.  One  of  the  dailies  has  since 
used  it  for  the  title  of  a  leading  article.  Dr.  Schlesinger,  Roden- 
berg,  Etienne,  and  others  of  the  leading  German  journalists,  have 
since  personally  expressed  to  me  their  great  satisfaction.  I  in 
close  the  report  of  the  "  Deutsche  Zeitung,"  with  a  translation  of 
the  part  relating  to  my  little  speech,  which  you  will  see  is  only  an 
echo  of  the  "  Tribune's  "  position.  I  don't  ask  you  to  publish  it, 
—  indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  it  would  be  in  good  taste  to  do  so  ; 
but  I  want  you  to  see  exactly  what  I  said.  I  had  no  idea  of  mak 
ing  such  an  impression.  I  hear  of  the  thing  wherever  I  turn,  and 
I  hope  it  will  do  us  some  good. 

VIENNA,  Friday  morning,  May  16, 1873. 

.  .  .  The  weather  continues  frightfully  bad,  and  there  are  com 
paratively  few  arrivals.  The  great  show  has  been  so  retarded, 
and  is  still  so  incomplete,  that  I  have  found  some  difficulty  in  de 
ciding  what  to  write  about.  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed 
in  your  hope  of  getting  "  brilliant "  descriptive  letters  from  me, 
since  that  quality  is  a  thing  which  cannot  be  manufactured  ;  it 
must  come  from  the  object  described.  Even  the  opening  was  so 
brief  and  simple  that  I  doubt  whether  any  correspondent  suc 
ceeded  in  making  an  impressive  account  of  it.  I.  have  seen  none 
in  the  German  or  English  papers  which  was  either  so  full  or  so 
correct  as  ours. 

The  Tribune  Bureau  is  now  tolerably  well  regulated.  I  think 

anticipates  a  little  too  much  in  the  way  of  advertising  and 

circulation,  as  I  wrote  to  him  to-day  ;  but  no  very  serious  ex 
pense  has  been  incurred,  and  we  have  at  least  already  acquired 
a  prestige  in  Germany,  Austria,  and  Hungary  .which  leaves  all 

other  American  papers  out  of  sight.  The  people  have 

been  bewildered  and  worried  at  finding  the  "  Tribune  "  ahead  of 

them  everywhere.  The  ,  after  a  feeble  struggle,  gave  up 

competition,  and  all  the  other  papers  come  under  our  wings  for  a 
little  comfort  or  counsel. 

1  The  word,  a  new  German  compound,  was  WeltgemiithlickJceit,  and  was 
received  with  no  end  of  applause.  The  German  speech  was  praised  in  all 
the  papers,  and  said  to  be  full  of  the  sprightliest  apergus. 


626  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  shall  write  three  letters  more,  and  then  I  must  go  back  to  my 
neglected  History.  My  wife  has  been  quite  unwell  in  Gotha,  and 
will  not  come  here  for  a  few  days  as  she  hoped.  E.  V.  S.  has 
gone  out  to  Baden  (twenty  miles  from  here)  temporarily,  on  ac 
count  of  his  wife's  health.  He  and  W.  J.  S.  will  be  quite  enough 
to  report  the  future  progress  of  the  Exhibition,  and  they  will  so 
divide  their  duties  as  not  to  conflict  or  overlap. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  May  24,  1873. 

I  finished  and  sent  off  to  you  this  morning  my  last  letter  anent 
the  Vienna  Exposition.  This  makes  (including  the  report  of  the 
opening)  ten  letters  and  two  translations  which  I  have  sent  from 
Vienna  hi  all,  so  now  I  propose  that  we  square  accounts  for  the 
present.  As  there  was  no  agreement  in  advance,  I  must  leave 
the  remuneration  to  your  estimate  of  the  service  rendered,  only 
begging  you  to  remember  that  all  my  time  in  Vienna  was  given 
to  Tribune  work,  half  of  which,  and  perhaps  the  most  impor 
tant  half,  is  not  represented  by  my  correspondence  ;  and  also 
that  inevitable  and  necessary  expenses  for  the  month  I  have 
given,  including  the  journey  to  and  fro,  are  a  little  over  three 
hundred  dollars,  gold.  Please  just  lump  together  all  I  have 
done,  Italian  letters,  etc.,  up  to  now,  and  send  me  a  draft  for  the 
amount  (on  Berlin)  to  this  address.  I  must  give  myself  wholly 
to  the  History  from  this  day  on  until  it  is  all  written  and  stereo 
typed,  so  cannot  undertake  any  more  service  for  the  "  Tribune  " 
before  September. 

...  I  am  tolerably  tired,  after  a  month  of  bad  weather,  bad 
fare,  and  endless  running  to  and  fro  in  Vienna.  My  wife  has 
been  quite  unwell  also,  so  we  propose  to  go  to  a  little  town  in  the 
mountains,  only  a  few  miles  from  here,  for  three  or  four  weeks. 
I  shall  take  my  work  along,  and  get  my  mails  daily  as  here.  I 
am  very  desirous  of  hearing  something  about  the  new  building, 
and  again  beg  you  to  send  me  an  unmounted  photograph  of  the 
plan  as  soon  as  you  have  one.  When  you  answer  this,  pray  tell 
me  as  much  as  you  have  time  to  say  concerning  that  and  other 
business  developments. 

TO   HIS    MOTHER. 

GOTIIA,  May  26,  1873. 

Yours  of  the  9th  inst.  came  on  Saturday  and  found  me  already 
here.  I  did  not  write  from  Vienna,  because  I  was  just  as  busy 


THE  PROPHET.  627 

as  I  could  be,  doing  work  for  the  "  Tribune,"  and  had  a  severe 
attack  of  rheumatism  in  the  right  (or  write)  arm,  wliich  made 
writing  difficult.  I  cured  it  with  quinine  before  I  left,  and  am 
now  all  right.  The  weather  was  bad  there,  the  cost  of  living 
very  high,  and  the  Exhibition  unfinished  ;  consequently  I  am 
very  glad  to  get  back  again.  My  only  consolation  is  that  I 
earned  a  little  money.  You  will  see  my  letters  in  the  "  Tribune," 
so  I  need  write  nothing  more  about  my  visit  there.  .  .  .  We  shall 
go  to  Friedrichroda  in  two  days  to  stay  a  few  weeks'.  It  is 
quieter  there,  and  I  can  work  better.  I  shall  be  very  busy  until 
August,  and  may  not  be  able  to  write  long  letters  ;  but  when  the 
History  is  once  finished,  it  will  be  a  great  relief.  .  .  . 

TO   WHITELAW  REID. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  July  23,  1873. 

The  "  Tribune  "  is  admirable,  and  I  no  longer  wonder  at  its 
success.  What  Ripley  tells  me  of  the  profits  is  most  encourag 
ing  ;  but  it  is  only  a  foreshadowing  of  what  is  yet  to  come.  I 
am  heartily  glad  that  I  have  been  able  to  do  a  very  little,  and 
shouM  like  to  do  more. 

Here,  I  have  a  proposition  to  make,  and  beg  you  to  answer  it 
solely  as  you  may  judge  the  interests  of  the  paper  require,  with 
out  regard  to  any  personal  considerations.  I  am  quite  anxious  to 
see  Egypt  again,  after  twenty-two  years,  next  winter.  I  have  a 
bronchial  difficulty  which  threatens  to  become  chronic,  and  a  win 
ter  in  Egypt  would  make  all  right.  So  much  has  happened  there, 
such  changes  are  going  on  in  the  Orient,  that  I  think  a  series 
of  letters  would  be  interesting  to  the  "  Tribune  "  readers  —  and 
possibly  valuable  for  the  weekly  and  semi-weekly,  if  announced 
early  in  the  fall,  as  H.  G.  used  to  do.  With  my  present  means  I 
could  go,  provided  I  could  earn  eight  hundred  to  one  thousand 
dollars  by  writing  while  there,  —  and  as  I  formerly  wrote,  not  by 
measure,  which  does  n't  answer  well  for  the  kind  of  correspond 
ence  I  have  in  view,  but  for  the  service  as  a  whole.  As  far  back 
as  1850,  I  was  paid  thirty  dollars  per  letter,  without  any  regard 
to  length,  and  if  I  spent  three  or  four  months  in  the  Orient,  I 
should  hardly  write  less  than  twenty-five  letters.  I  mention  this 
now,  that  you  may  consider  in  time  ;  it  might  help  the  weekly  a 
little,  if  mentioned  in  the  coming  programme.  But  if  you  decide 
against  it,  I  am  sure  it  will  be  for  sufficient  reasons.  When  I 
return  home  next  summer,  I  want  to  stay  for  a  good  many  years, 
D.  V.,  in  New  York. 


628  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  HIS   MOTHER. 

GOTHA,  July  26,  1873. 

...  I  think  I  never  stuck  at  any  work  so  steadily  as  this  "  His 
tory  of  Germany,"  for  it  requires  the  closest  attention,  and  be 
sides  I  have  engaged  to  finish  my  part  of  the  work  by  the  1st  of 
August.  Consequently  I  have  let  everything  lie  ;  for  after  work 
ing  seven  hours  a  day,  and  then  walking  one  hour,  I  really  felt  as 
if  I  could  not  touch  a  pen.  If  I  keep  my  health  and  strength, 
which  so  far  have  supported  me  wonderfully,  only  four  days 
more,  I  shall  be  done.  Wednesday  will  be  the  30th  of  July, 
and  I  shall  have  one  day  to  spare.  After  that  I  don't  mean  to 
do  more  than  I  please  for  a  month  or  two.  The  History  has 
been  a  big  job,  but  I  hope  it  will  yield  me  something  handsome, 
which  it  is  sure  to  do,  if  once  properly  introduced  into  the  schools. 
I  feel  the  labor  less,  I  think,  than  I  did  a  month  ago,  for  as  I 
draw  so  near  the  end  the  pressure  diminishes. 

His  estimate  of  his  powers  was  exact.  The  work 
was  finished,  so  far  as  the  writing  was  concerned,  upon 
the  30th  of  July.  The  stereotyping  of  the  plates  had 
meanwhile  been  going  on  at  Leipzig,  and  by  the  first 
week  of  September  Mr.  Brockhaus  wrote  that  the 
plates  had  been  shipped  to  New  York,  ready  for  print 
ing.  He  added  in  his  letter :  "  In  the  course  of  its 
progress  here,  I  have  taken  great  interest  in  becoming 
acquainted  with  your  work,  and  I  feel  glad,  as  a  Ger 
man,  that  the  history  of  our  country  has  found  in  you 
such  an  excellent  interpreter ;  for  it  is  certainly  not 
easy  for  a  foreigner  to  make  clear  the  often  very 
clouded  and  obscure  passages  in  our  history.  You 
have  really  rendered  a  great  service  to  Germany  by 
this  work,  since  it  will  no  doubt  help  toward  a  better 
knowledge  of  our  development  as  a  Nation."  There 
was  little  other  satisfaction  for  Bayard  Taylor  in  the 
book.  The  publication  was  delayed  in  America,  owing 
to  dissatisfaction  with  the  illustrations,  and  the  end 


THE  PROPHET.  629 

was  that  the  author  never  received  the  least  return  for 
his  labor. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  August  9,  1873. 

You  made  your  short  note  so  pleasant  that  I  can't  scold  you 
for  its  brevity  ;  yet  I  should  like  to.  There  might  have  been  so 
much  more  of  what  may  seem  personal  or  domestic  "  nothings  " 
to  you,  yet  have  such  value  at  this  distance  !  As  for  the  Vienna 
letters,  I  went  there  reluctantly,  and  expected  to  hear  that  my 
reports  were  stupid  and  prosy  :  if  you  suppose  I  made  any  effort 
to  do  fine  writing,  you  are  mistaken.  Nothing  in  my  literary 
experience  ever  surprised  me  more  than  to  hear,  from  a  great 
many  sources,  that  they  were  especially  good.  The  other  things 
which  I  write  in  exactly  the  same  fashion,  under  the  same  moods, 
on  the  same  literary  plan,  are  not  so  fortunate.  Why  is  this 
thus  ?  Of  course  I  am  always  glad  to  do  a  thing  well,  —  glad,  in 
this  case,  for  the  "  Tribune's  "  sake,  —  but  I  can't  have  any  feel 
ing  of  exultation  about  mere  ephemeral  work. 

.  .  .  However,  "  Lars  "  has  been  so  long  published  that  my  in 
terest  in  him  is  now  about  as  slight  as  that  of  any  reader.  I 
have  been  working  for  seven  months,  interrupted  only  by  a 
month  at  Vienna,  on  my  "  History  of  Germany,"  which  I  hope 
will  be  damned  alive  by  everybody  and  sell  tremendously.  This 
work  I  have  done  for  money  :  now  let  us  see  whether  the  sordid 
impulse  will  not  be  more  fortunate  than  the  purer  aspiration  ! 
Since  I  must  earn  my  living  for  the  present,  I  pray  for  pecuni 
ary  success,  and  for  none  other  ;  a  few  months  will  probably  de 
cide. 

I  must  be  thankful  for  health,  after  all  this  labor,  —  and  for 
the  last  ten  weeks  I  have  studied,  written,  and  corrected  ten 
hours  a  day,  Sundays  included,  —  and  for  the  absence  of  physical 
and  mental  depression,  which  I  had  two  years  ago.  I  shall  take 
the  holiday  of  a  few  weeks  which  I  have  fairly  earned,  gather 
Goethe-material  hi  a  slow  way,  and  gradually  look  out  for  fresh 
paying  work. 

.  .  .  We  live,  in  fact,  like  the  early  Christians,  not  taking 
much  thought  of  the  morrow,  yet  reasonably  happy  and  hopeful. 
In  fact,  life  is  full  of  useless  misery,  — if  we  could  but  shake  it 
off! 


630  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   W.   J.    STILLMAN. 

GOTHA,  September  12,  1873. 

...  I  can  fully  understand  your  longing  for  America.  I  am 
beginning  to  count  the  months  which  must  intervene  before  my 
own  return,  and  when  I  get  there  I  shall  not  leave  again  soon. 
There  must  certainly  be  good,  remunerative  work  for  you  there, 
for  the  work  you  can  do  is  sorely  needed.  I  think  the  people 
are  ripe  for  a  purer  artistic  instruction  than  they  have  yet  re 
ceived.  Unfortunately  the  chances  of  finding  one's  place  are 
more  or  less  accidental,  and  one  must  generally  wait  a  little  for 
them.  If  you  should  not  go  before  I  do,  and  still  keep  in  the 
same  mind,  I  can  easily  ascertain  what  hope  there  is  in  New 
York.  I  do  not  know  Boston  so  well,  and  have  not  an  entire 
faith  in  the  permanence  of  its  esthetic  culture.  Much  there  de 
pends  upon  a  small  circle,  the  members  of  which  are  getting 
old,  and  I  do  not  see  any  signs  of  a  younger  generation.  In  New 
York  it  is  just  the  younger  ones  who  are  developing  in  the  right 
way. 

I  have  finished  my  History,  and  have  been  for  the  last  fort 
night  painting.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  foolish,  but  a  harmless,  passion 
with  me,  and  I  am  very  happy  over  every  little  sign  of  improve 
ment.  Moreover,  after  a  long  dry  spell  there  have  been  a  few 
poetic  showers,  and  they  always  give  me  fresh  life.  So  I  take 
all  other  discouragements  easily,  and  keep  in  cheerful  spirits. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

WEIMAR,  October  14,  1873. 

...  I  have  carefully  read  all  the  German  biographies,  and 
recently  Lewes  over  again,  with  a  most  encouraging  result.  The 
man  and  poet,  Goethe,  is  not  clearly  or  fairly  drawn  in  any  of 
them.  The  material  is  immense,  and  I  must  know  it  all  without 
using  more  than  ten  per  cent,  of  it.  But  the  farther  I  go  the 
more  courage  I  have  to  take  hold. 

I  have  only  been  here  two  days,  but  have  made  two  most 
valuable  acquaintances,  and  learned  the  streets  of  the  little  cap 
ital  by  heart.  I  always  liked  Weimar,  and  now  it  has  a  veritable 
fascination  for  me.  I  shall  stay  about  six  weeks  now,  and  re 
turn  in  the  spring.  This  study  of  the  localities  is  delightful. 
Already  both  Goethe  and  Schiller  come  out  of  the  limbo  of 
shadows,  and  are  growing  into  existences  of  flesh  and  blood  for 


THE  PROPHET.  631 

mo.  Yesterday,  passing  Goethe's  garden-house,  in  the  charming 
park  along  the  Ilm,  I  stopped  at  the  gate  and  found  myself 
wondering  whether  Tie  had  planted  the  bed  of  marigolds  under 
the  window.  The  table  where  Thackeray  used  to  take  tea  with 
Ottilie  von  Goethe  was  covered  with  fallen  leaves  ;  but  there 
were  white  curtains  at  the  windows,  and  a  bouquet  of  asters  in  a 
pot.  Most  of  the  trees  are  still  green  ;  the  days  are  very  bright 
and  sunny,  though  night  comes  much  too  soon  here  in  lat.  51°. 

TO   JOHN   B.    PHILLIPS. 

GOTHA,  November  22,  1873. 

.  .  .  You  exaggerate  what  you  consider  my  successes,  and 
hence,  very  probably,  the  effect  which  you  imagine  them  to  have 
upon  my  nature.  From  1854  to  1862,  or  thereabouts,  I  had  a 
good  deal  of  popularity  of  a  cheap,  ephemeral  sort.  It  began  to 
decline  at  the  time  when  I  began  to  see  the  better  and  truer  work 
in  store  for  me,  and  I  let  it  go,  feeling  that  I  must  begin  anew 
and  acquire  a  second  reputation,  of  a  very  different  kind.  For 
the  past  five  years  I  have  been  engaged  in  this  struggle,  which 
is  not  yet  over.  I  dare  not  pause  to  rest,  for  my  own  sake  ;  the 
change  in  my  nature  gives  me  the  energy  of  a  new  youth,  and  I 
know  this  cannot  last  many  years  more.  I  am  giving  the  best 
blood  of  my  life  to  my  labors,  seeing  them  gradually  recognized 
by  the  few  and  the  best,  it  is  true,  but  they  are  still  unknown  to 
the  public,  and  my  new  claims  are  fiercely  resisted  by  a  majority 
of  the  newspaper  writers  in  the  United  States.  Out  of  a  dozen 
intimate  literary  friends  in  New  York  and  Boston,  only  three 
have  sent  me  a  word  of  congratulation  about  "  Lars."  .  .  .  And 
now  comes  a  report  from  Strahan,  the  London  publisher.  "  Lars  " 
is  the  first  poem  of  mine  ever  published  in  England,  and  I  hoped 
for  some  impartial  recognition  there.  Well,  the  sale  is  just  one 
hundred  and  eight  copies  !  My  translation  of  "Faust"  is  at  last 
accepted  in  England,  Germany,  and  America  as  much  the  best. 
It  cost  me  years  of  the  severest  labor,  and  has  not  yet  returned 
me  five  hundred  dollars.  The  "  Masque  of  the  Gods  "  has  not 
paid  expenses.  The  sale  of  my  former  volumes  of  travel  has 
fallen  almost  to  nothing,  as  is  natural,  for  they  were  doomed, 
from  the  first,  to  a  transient  existence.  For  two  years  past  I 
have  had  no  income  of  any  sort  from  property  or  copyrights,  and 
am  living  partly  upon  my  capital  and  partly  upon  mechanical  la 
bor  of  the  mind.  Within  a  year  I  have  written  "  Lars,"  compiled 


632  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

a  volume  on  Central  Asia  for  Scribners,  done  the  Vienna  Exposi 
tion  for  the  "  Tribune,"  written  a  complete  "  School  History  of 
Germany  "  (working  on  it  ten  hours  a  day  for  months),  and  have 
just  returned  from  six  weeks  of  Goethe  studies  and  researches 
in  Weimar.  I  am  very  weary,  indeed,  completely  fagged  out, 
and  to  read  what  you  say  of  my  success  sounds  almost  like  irony. 
The  fancy  that  you  may  think  me  spoiled  by  it  makes  me  laugh. 
It  would  take  a  great  deal  more  praise  than  I  get  to  make  me 
feel  that  the  one  resolute  aim  of  these  later  years  is  at  all  gen 
erally  appreciated.  .  .  . 

The  hints  which  Bayard  Taylor  had  dropped  to  one 
or  two  of  his  most  intimate  friends  of  a  mysterious 
work  upon  which  he  was  engaged  point  to  his  drama 
of  "  The  Prophet."  Several  years  before,  when  walk 
ing  with  a  friend,  their  conversation  fell  upon  the 
Mormons,  and  his  friend  sketched  a  drama  which  he 
meant  to  write  some  day  with  the  Mormon  superstition 
for  an  historic  basis.  At  that  very  time  Bayard  Taylor 
had  projected  a  drama,  which  was  to  make  use  of  the 
same  materials,  although  the  use  was  to  be  very  differ 
ent.  He  was  so  taken  aback  by  the  coincidence  of 
their  thought  that  he  was  dumb  for  the  rest  of  the 
walk,  and  could  not  bring  himself  to  speak  of  his  own 
scheme,  but  waited  until  he  had  gone  home,  when  he 
wrote  of  it  to  his  friend.  There  was  no  real  conflict  of 
purpose  between  them,  but  the  incident  points  to  a 
characteristic  of  Bayard  Taylor's  habit  of  construction, 
whether  in  poetry  or  prose.  Eapid  as  his  work  was,  it 
waited  upon  a  full  projection,  and  sometimes  waited 
long.  The  conception  came  ;  he  suffered  it  to  grow,  to 
become  full-formed  in  his  mind  before  he  gave  it  ex 
pression.  Then,  when  it  pressed  for  a  concrete  form, 
he  saw  it  from  beginning  to  end,  and  the  very  fury  of 
his  composition  was  in  his  eager  haste  to  overtake  the 
conclusion.  There  was  no  hesitation  about  the  work ; 


THE  PROPHET.  633 

because  the  conception  lay  perfect  in  his  mind  before 
he  conveyed  it  at  all  to  paper.  He  was  willing  to  wait 
for  the  full  growth  of  his  idea,  because  the  ideal  which 
he  always  had  before  him  was  of  perfection  in  art,  and 
he  believed  too  emphatically  in  the  possibility  of  this 
perfection  to  suffer  his  work  to  be  begun  in  uncer 
tainty,  with  the  expectation  that  somehow  it  would 
shape  itself.  The  creative  instinct  which  he  had  so 
strongly  was  an  intelligent  and  conscious  one.  His 
works  were  not  happy  accidents,  but  clearly  deter 
mined  forms.  The  one  unmistakable  property  of  all 
his  writings,  except  the  merely  narrative  and  descrip 
tive  works,  was  this  clear  conception  of  ultimate  form. 
Gfhus,  although  he  had  conceived  the  main  purpose  of 
"The  Prophet"  long  before,  he  had  waited  until  he 
could  impose  it  upon  a  sure  basis  of  historic  fact,  and 
now  that  he  was  satisfied  with  the  structure  as  it  was 
formed  in  his  mind  he  wrote  as  one  transcribes. 

The  completion  of  "  The  Prophet "  left  the  writer 
wearied  from  the  strain  which  the  composition  had  im 
posed  upon  him.  He  began  writing  it  at  the  end  of 
August,  during  his  short  stay  in  Gotha.  The  first  act 
was  completed  in  September,  and  the  second  act  begun. 
The  visit  to  Weimar  did  not  interrupt  the  work.  In 
deed,  it  rather  stimulated  his  mind  to  greater  activity. 
The  delightful  intercourse  which  he  there  had  with  in 
tellectual  people,  and  the  association  with  Goethe  which 
was  made  more  intimate  by  the  distinct  purpose  of  his 
visit,  quickened  his  mental  life  and  hastened  the  com 
pletion  of  the  drama.  On  October  18th  he  wrote  to 
his  wife,  "  I  have  nothing  more  to  send  you,  for  I  shall 
bring  the  new  scenes  with  me.  I  write  something, 
whether  much  or  little,  every  day,  and  find  it  the  only 
way  to  prevent  the  Goethe-interests  from  interrupting 


634  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

me.  I  want  to  go  on  with  the  main  action  while  I  am 
possessed  with  it."  So  deeply  had  he  become  absorbed 
in  his  task,  that  social  engagements,  researches,  and 
visits  to  neighboring  towns  seemed  merely  outside  in 
cidents,  which  deprived  him  for  the  time  of  actual 
writing,  but  did  not  retard  the  growth  of  the  drama  in 
his  mind,  so  that  in  the  intervals  of  his  busy  life  he  was 
always  ready  to  put  quickly  upon  paper  the  acts  and 
scenes  which  had  been  taking  form.  On  the  railway 
to  Gotha,  the  second  stanza  of  Livia's  song  was  com 
posed  and  noted  down  in  pencil.  In  the  middle  of 
November,  after  having  completed  Act  IV.,  he  resolved 
not  to  begin  Act  V.  until  a  week  later,  when  he  ex 
pected  to  have  a  few  quiet  days  at  Gotha.  But  before 
getting  there,  on  November  18th,  he  wrote,  "  I  began 
Act  V.  last  evening,  —  could  n't  help  it.  To-day,  D.  V., 
I  shall  finish  Scene  II.  There  's  no  use  of  waiting, 
while  I  am  in  the  humor  to  write."  The  last  two 
scenes  of  the  drama  were  written  at  Leizpig,  Novem 
ber  24th  and  25th.  He  was  hardly  aware,  until  the 
work  was  done,  how  heavily  it  had  taxed  his  nervous 
system. 

TO  J.  K.   OSGOOD  AND  T.  B.   ALDRICH. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  November  30,  1873. 

I  unite  your  names,  intending  this  for  both  of  you,  because  I 
have  a  secret  to  confide  to  both,  and  most  earnestly  request  that 
it  shall  go  no  farther. 

The  plan  you,  T.  B.  A.,  suggested  in  regard  to  "Lars"  can 
now  be  put  into  execution,  and  with  a  far  better  chance  of  suc 
cess.  There  were  many  passages  in  "  Lars  "  which  would  have 
betrayed  my  hand  :  there  is  scarcely  one  in  the  new  poem,  just 
completed,  which  any  one  will  recognize  as  mine.  A  much  more 
ambitious  and  important  conception,  which  I  have  carried  in  my 
head  for  seven  years  past,  is  at  last  put  into  words.  For  nearly 
four  months  I  have  been  secretly  at  work  ;  no  one  here,  except 
my  wife,  has  any  suspicion  of  what  I  have  done,  and  of  course 


THE  PROPHET.  635 

no  one  in  America.  It  is  a  dramatic  poem  called  "  The  Prophet : 
a  Tragedy,"  or  "  The  Prophet's  Tragedy,"  whichever  may  be 
considered  best.  I  prefer  the  former.  It  is  in  five  acts,  and 
makes  3.400  lines  of  verse,  without  counting  descriptive  pas 
sages  or  stage  directions.  The  following  are  the  Dramatis  Per- 
sonse  :  David  Starr,  the  Prophet ;  Elkanah  Starr,  his  father  ; 
Hannah  Starr,  his  mother  ;  Rhoda,  afterwards  his  wife  ;  Nimrod 
Kraft,  afterwards  High  Priest ;  Livia  Romney,  a  woman  of  the 
world  ;  Peter,  an  orphan,  David's  serving-man  ;  Simeon,  Mor- 
decai,  Hugh,  Jonas,  members  of  the  Council  of  Twelve  ;  Sarah, 
wife  of  Jonas  ;  Colonel  Hyde,  Sheriff  ;  Hiram,  a  member  of  the 
church  ;  a  Preacher  ;  men  of  David's  neighborhood  ;  members 
of  the  Church,  women,  Colonel  Hyde's  followers. 

The  time  is  between  1840  and  1850. 

The  scene  of  Act  I.  is  in  a  New  England  State  ;  of  the  other 
four  Acts  in  a  Western  State. 

The  substance  of  the  drama  may  be  thus  roughly  given  :  Act 
I.  The  development  of  the  prophet-nature  in  an  earnest,  excita 
ble  young  man  ;  love  ;  miracles.  Act  II.  Emigration  to  the 
West ;  Zion  founded  ;  new  elements  introduced  ;  another  woman. 
Act  III.  Polygamy  :  two  passions  at  work.  Act  IV.  Secret  re 
bellion  ;  desperate  measures  to  establish  a  hierarchy  ;  ambition 
of  the  High  Priest.  Act  V.  Conflict  with  state  authorities  ;  de 
nouement  of  a  plot  in  which  two  wives,  Prophet,  Priest,  and 
Council  of  Twelve  figure  ;  death  of  the  Prophet  in  the  Temple. 

The  history  of  the  Mormons  is  a  background  to  the  poem. 
Nauvoo  is  suggested  ;  but  the  conception  of  the  Prophet's  nature 
is  quite  independent.  The  poem  is  a  two-edged  sword,  cutting 
the  fossilized  Orthodox  to  the  heart  no  less  than  the  Mormons. 
It  is  full  of  passion  and  intrigue  ;  among  the  scenes  are  :  A 
camp-meeting  ;  miracles  in  a  mountain  valley  ;  camps  on  the 
prairies  ;  the  Temple  of  the  New  Zion ;  secret  councils  of  the 
Twelve  ;  and  at  last  battle  and  death.  The  plot  is  the  result  of 
years  of  constant  thought  ;  as  a  piece  of  literary  art  the  poem 
will  rank  vastly  higher  than  "Lars."  It  has  a  terse,  compact, 
vigorous  character,  which  is  quite  unlike  the  latter  ;  the  action  is 
uninterrupted  from  beginning  to  end,  and  there  are  many  very 
strong  dramatic  situations.  In  short,  it  is  a  poem  to  make  or 
break  a  reputation. 

My  suggestion  is  this  :  I  will  send  the  MS.  by  mail  in  the 
spring.  During  the  summer  the  work  may  be  heralded  by  mys- 


636  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

terious  hints  of  a  new  author.  (If  need  be,  I  will  write  two  or 
three  poems  in  some  striking  manner,  to  be  used.)  I  expect  to 
return  home  about  September  1st,  and  if  it  comes  out  about  the 
middle  of  that  month,  suspicion  will  be  averted  from  me.  This 
seems  to  me  the  very  best  chance  for  trying  the  experiment. 
The  poem  will  certainly  attract  a  great  deal  of  attention,  —  pos 
sibly,  of  controversy.  I  assure  you  in  advance  of  its  originality 
and  of  its  power,  as  contrasted  with  my  former  works.  The  con 
ception  struck  me  at  first  as  so  important  that  I  kept  it  so  many 
years  in  order  to  grow  up  to  it.  What  I  have  written  to  you  is 
the  driest  skeleton,  not  even  giving  you  the  plot.  But  I  hope 
the  material  will  enable  you  to  judge.  It  will  make  a  volume  of 
two  hundred  pages,  printed  like  Longfellow's  "  Divine  Tragedy." 
There  are  thirty-five  scenes  in  all,  and  nine  songs  or  hymns  in 
troduced.  The  catastrophe  is  quite  startling,  solving  the  com 
plication  introduced  by  the  two  wives  of  the  Prophet,  and  in  a 
way  which  (I  think)  will  satisfy  everybody. 

There  !  I  need  say  no  more.  The  work  is  done,  must  and 
will  be  published,  and  it  is  for  you  to  decide  whether  in  this  way 
or  another. 

I  may  add  that  the  religious  element  is  a  background  on 
which  human  passions  are  projected.  David  is  a  Hamlet-nature, 
and  the  germs  of  his  final  fate  are  in  him  from  the  first. 

I  write  this  now,  that  we  may  have  plenty  of  time.  All  that 
was  Suggested  last  winter  is  now  possible,  and  I  will  go  into  the 
plot  with  all  my  heart  if  you  agree.  Please  answer  me  soon  to 
this  address. 

TO  GEORGE   H.   YEWELL. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  December  5,  1873. 

I  have  just  finished  my  Weimar  studies  for  this  fall,  and 
brought  my  wife  back  from  Leipzig.  ...  I  feel  quite  sure  that 
it  (Egypt)  will  be  the  very  climate  for  my  wife.  I  found  the 
winter-climate  of  Egypt  bracing  as  well  as  soft ;  three  days 
out  of  four  there  was  a  north  wind,  and  the  Khamseen  (something 
like  the  scirocco)  only  came  about  once  a  month.  It  was  some 
times  quite  warm  between  eleven  and  three  o'clock,  but  the 
evenings  were  always  perfect,  and  the  nights  cool  enough  for 
blankets.  I  am  more  than  ever  bent  on  going,  because  I  feel 
sure  the  trip  can  be  made  with  tolerable  cheapness  from  Naples, 
via  Malta,  in  the  Rubattino  line.  It  will  hardly  cost  more  at  a 


THE  PROPHET.  637 

hotel  in  Cairo  than  in  Rome,  —  say  about  fifteen  francs  a  day. 
If  five  of  us  go  together,  I  will  undertake  to  make  the  journey 
from  Rome  to  Thebes  and  back  for  six  hundred  dollars  apiece, 
counting  everything  :  possibly  for  five  hundred  dollars. 

I  am  obliged  to  economize  in  every  way,  as  we  have  almost  no 
income  of  any  kind,  and  are  eating  our  way  into  our  very  mod 
erate  capital  ;  but  I  estimate  that  the  letters  I  can  write  from 
Egypt  will  yield  enough  to  pay  more  than  the  difference  of  ex 
penses  between  going  there  and  staying  in  Italy.  So  you  may 
bring  back  two  or  three  old  temple  interiors  which  will  pay  you 
in  the  same  way.  Don't  give  up  the  idea  yet  ;  if  you  will  say 
yes,  now,  I  will  say  so  too.  We  can  leave  about  the  middle  of 
January,  and  be  back  about  the  middle  of  March,  after  which  we 
want  to  stay  a  month  in  Rome  before  returning  to  Germany. 

This  is  our  dark  time  of  the  year,  when  every  letter  is  sure  to 
have  bad  news.  Within  three  or  four  weeks,  my  mother  has 
been  sick,  my  old  father  fell  down  a  staircase,  a  niece  in  Amer 
ica  and  another  in  Germany  have  died,  remittances  have  gone 
astray  or  never  been  sent,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  minor 
anxieties  have  come  to  us.  But  I  console  myself  with  the  idea 
that  Fate,  after  taking  so  much,  will  owe  me  something  after 
a  while,  —  that  I  shall  earn  a  little  good  luck  by  being  patient 
with  the  bad.  .  .  .  We  shall  turn  our  faces  southward  about 
January  1st,  and  probably  make  the  trip  from  here  to  Bologna 
—  forty  hours  —  without  stopping. 

.  .  .  We  both  long  for  Italy  again,  and  it  is  a  great  delight 
to  think  that,  D.  V.,  we  shall  be  there  in  four  weeks.  Don't 
wait  as  long  as  I  have  done  with  a  letter  ;  you  must  remember 
that,  writing  all  day  at  my  work,  a  little  more  writing  is  some 
times  hard,  and  I  rather  wait  than  turn  a  letter  to  a  friend  into 
a  task. 

TO  T.   B.   ALDRICH. 

GOTHA,  December  6,  1873. 

I  sent  a  joint  letter  to  you  and  Osgood  two  or  three  days 
ago,  with  a  confidential  message,  which  I  hope  will  reach  you 
safely.  I  feel  rather  sure  of  your  concurrence  in  the  proposed 
plan.  Indeed,  the  idea  is  solely  yours  of  last  winter,  and  I 
shall  owe  my  success  to  you  if  it  succeeds.  Inasmuch  as  I 
don't  get  some  important  letters  long  since  due,  I  begin  to  fear 
that  there  may  be  a  leak  somewhere  in  the  post,  and  therefore, 


638  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

to  be  quite  sure  of  your  getting  my  message,  will  briefly  repeat 
the  substance  of  it  here. 

I  've  written  a  dramatic  poem  in  five  acts,  —  "  The  Prophet :  A 
Tragedy."  It  is  wholly  American  in  scene,  character,  and  plot  ; 
in  fact,  the  story  could  not  happen  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 
The  rise  of  the  Mormons  under  Joe  Smith,  the  building  of  the 
Temple  at  Nauvoo,  and  the  death  of  Joe  Smith  there  form  a  suf 
ficient  historical  background.  My  Prophet,  however,  is  a  totally 
different  person  ;  his  doom  may  be  distinctly  traced  to  teachings 
of  Orthodox  Christianity.  Upon  the  latter  he  bases  polygamy 
and  a  despotic  hierarchy.  The  poem  is  full  of  dramatic  situa 
tions,  and  its  religious  element  is  only  the  ground  upon  which 
human  passions  are  drawn.  The  poem  is  by  far  the  best  thing  I 
have  ever  written.  The  blank  verse  has  a  vigorous,  compact 
character,  quite  unlike  that  of  "  Lars,"  and  I  'in  sure  few  persons 
will  think  of  me  when  they  read  it.  If  I  'd  a  set  of  devout  disci 
ples,  like  Emerson  or  Lowell,  I  should  not  feel  safe  ;  but  having 
positively  not  one  (that  I  know  of),  I  think  we  may  play  a  little 
comedy  without  any  one  looking  under  the  mask.  My  letter  tells 
more  of  the  poem,  and  I  hope  its  safe  arrival  will  make  this  su 
perfluous. 

I  've  just  returned  from  a  stay  of  nearly  two  months  at  Wei 
mar.  While  there  I  got  well  acquainted  with  the  grandsons  of 
Goethe,  Schiller,  Herder,  and  Wielana,  and  with  many  elder  per 
sons  who  knew  Goethe  intimately.  I  lived  myself  into  (as  the 
German  phrase  is)  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  and  learned  a 
great  deal  in  a  short  time. 

.  .  .  I  'm  getting  immensely  homesick,  but  next  summer,  D.  V., 
will  see  us  back  again.  Pray  let  me  hear  from  you  soon  after 
this  reaches  you.  Direct  to  care  of  J.  L.  Graham,  United  States 
Consul,  Florence,  Italy.  We  '11  go  there  in  four  weeks  to  finish 
the  winter  in  a  softer  air.  And  now  good-by  ! 

TO   HANNAH   M.    DARLINGTON. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  December  29,  1873. 

Your  letter  of  the  7th  hist,  was  most  welcome  and  interest 
ing.  .  .  . 

I'm  glad  to  hear  that  "Lars"  is  finding  favor  among  the 
Friends.  I  know  that  it  is  not  strictly  true  to  all  their  obser 
vances,  but  that  makes  not  the  slightest  difference.  The  more 
correct  it  is,  hi  that  respect,  the  less  poetic  it  becomes.  The  dis- 


THE  PROPHET.  639 

cipline  of  the  Friends  is  antagonistic  to  all  poetry.  I  have  used 
the  only  poetic  element  they  possess,  —  the  direction  of  the  Spirit. 
The  "  plan  of  approach,"  of  which  you  speak  as  being  so  contrary 
to  their  ways,  is  chosen  because  it  is  dramatic  and  true  in  a  gen 
eral  human  sense,  no  matter  how  untrue  in  a  technical  sense.  So, 
if  the  story  is  "  horrible,"  as  you  think,  can  you  not  feel  that  the 
two  extremes  are  positively  necessary  ?  If  "  Lars  "  had  not  been 
so  violent  a  nature,  the  triumph  of  the  peace-principle  would  be 
greatly  lessened,  the  story  would  become  weak  and  tame,  and  the 
final  impression  might  be  lost  altogether.  What  success  I  have 
achieved  lies  exactly  in  overcoming  brute  passion  in  its  fiercest 
form  by  a  moral  courage  so  strong  that  it  prohibits  the  suspicion 
of  physical  cowardice.  The  laws  of  poetic  art  are  never  hi  con 
flict  with  those  of  human  nature  in  its  broad,  unhindered  devel 
opment  ;  but  every  sect,  and  the  Friends  as  much  as  any  other, 
cramps,  dwarfs,  and  distorts  such  development.  The  highest  na 
ture  is  that  which  is  bound  by  no  sect,  but  freely  accepts  the  good 
of  each  and  all.  You  must,  therefore,  not  judge  "  Lars  "  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  Friends  ;  no  poem, 
in  fact,  can  be  submitted  to  such  a  standard  of  judgment.  .  .  . 
I  am  steadily  at  work  all  the  time.  I  have  really  done  more  dur 
ing  the  last  fifteen  months  than  ever  before  in  my  life  in  an  equal 
period  of  time.  Whether  my  work  will  find  immediate  accept 
ance  or  not  does  not  concern  me.  I  try  to  fulfill  my  own  ideal  of 
excellence  so  far  as  possible,  and  trust  to  final  recognition  by  the 
minds  capable  of  it.  ... 

TO  JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  January  8,  1874. 

Your  welcome  letter  of  December  21st  reached  me  yesterday, 
and  I  reply  at  once  because  we  are  on  the  eve  of  starting  for  Italy. 
In  fact,  we  meant  to  leave  to-morrow,  but  L.  has  been  in  bed  two 
days  with  a  severe  bilious  attack,  and  we  shall  hardly  be  able  to 
get  away  before  Monday  next. 

.  .  .  Our  plan  now  is  to  get  to  Italy  as  soon  as  possible,  but 
not  to  stay  there.  We  shall  push  on  to  Egypt  by  the  1st  of  Feb 
ruary,  and  remain  there  until  the  end  of  March  ;  then  return  to 
Rome  for  April,  then  back  to  Germany  in  May,  when  I  shall  go 
again  to  Weimar  for  six  weeks.  My  studies  completed  there,  we 
shall  all  be  ready  and  eager  to  go  home. 

Now,  you  may  wonder  how  I  should  undertake  a  trip  to  Egypt 
VOL.  H.  15 


640  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

in  my  state  of  suspended  income.  The  secret  is,  I  go  there  to 
write  for  the  "  Tribune,"  and  to  make  half  a  dozen  magazine  ar 
ticles  of  more  interest  than  I  could  prepare  in  Italy.  Thus,  al 
though  the  expense  will  be  greater,  I  shall  be  able  to  earn  more 
than  enough  to  cover  the  difference.  Besides,  the  perfect  climate 
of  Egypt  is  just  what  is  needed  for  M.  and  me.  My  bronchial 
irritation  is  not  bad,  but  very  stubborn,  and  African  air  will  cure 
it  in  a  few  weeks.  Moreover,  I  don't  feel  certain  of  again  com 
ing  to  Europe  for  such  a  long  stay,  —  at  least,  I  hope  not,  —  and 
I  must  refresh  my  soul,  my  whole  nature,  beside  the  Nile,  where 
I  felt  the  fullness  of  life  twenty-one  years  ago  as  never  since.  If 
we  were  only  already  there  ! 

The  short  delay  which  Bayard  Taylor  anticipated 
in  getting  away  from  Gotha  proved  to  be  a  month. 
His  daughter's  illness  was  more  serious  than  at  first 
appeared,  and  the  family  remained  from  day  to  day 
and  week  to  week,  waiting  until  it  was  safe  to  travel. 
The  delay  compelled  them  finally  to  shorten  their  stay 
both  in  Italy  and  in  Egypt,  where  they  could  not  go 
beyond  Cairo.  The  closing  weeks  of  1873  and  the 
early  months  of  1874  also  were  marked  by  most  un- 
propitious  weather,  so  that  the  holiday  which  Bayard 
Taylor  had  anticipated  was  passed  under  many  dis 
comforts.  He  was  so  occupied  by  many  cares  con 
nected  with  his  daughter's  illness  that  he  did  little 
work  during  the  month  of  forced  stay  in  Gotha,  ex 
cept  to  write  a  long  article  for  the  "  Tribune "  on 
Schliemann's  discoveries,  one  of  the  earliest  and  most 
comprehensive  resumes  of  a  work  which  was  then  just 
coming  into  notice.  He  wrote  also  a  story  for  the 
"  Atlantic,"  "  Who  was  She  ?  "  The  delay  gave  him 
opportunity  to  write  more  at  length  to  his  friends. 

TO   E.    C.    STEDMAN. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  January  16,  1874. 

.  .  .  We  meant  to  have  left  here  on  the  7th  for  Florence  and 
Rome,  but  on  the  5th  L.  was  taken  down  with  bilious  fever,  and 


THE  PROPHET.  641 

still  lies  in  bed,  although,  D.  G.  !  the  crisis  is  past,  and  she  be 
gins  to  mend.  The  winter  climate  here  is  unusually  trying.  I 
have  a  stubborn  cough,  and  M.  is  beginning  to  give  way,  after  so 
much  night-watching.  However,  to-day  I  engaged  Sister  Engel- 
berta  and  Sister  Blanca,  two  fresh  and  fair  Catholic  nurses,  to 
take  turns  in  sitting  up,  in  M.'s  place  ;  and  we  hope  five  or  six 
days  more  will  relieve  us  from  all  further  care  and  anxiety.  But 
it  will  be  the  end  of  the  month,  or  nearly  so,  before  we  get  away. 
So  much  was  crowded  into  my  two  months'  sojourn  in  Weimar, 
that  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin  to  tell  you  about  it.  I  had 
not  been  there  many  days  before  I  discovered  that  my  transla 
tion  was  generally  and  favorably  known  ;  so  I  began  to  call, 
without  ceremony,  upon  the  people  I  wanted  to  know,  and  was 
received  with  open  arms.  During  the  last  three  weeks  I  was  in 
vited  out  to  supper  every  evening,  and  thus  drew  deep  draughts 
of  the  social  atmosphere.  I  made  no  secret  of  my  plan,  and 
every  one  seemed  desirous  to  be  of  some  service.  With  Baron 
Gleichen,  Schiller's  grandson,  I  established  a  hearty  friendship. 
I  am  to  go  with  him  to  his  father's  castle  of  Bonnland  in  the 
spring,  and  examine  all  the  MSS.  and  relics  of  Schiller  which 
the  family  possesses.  Wolfgang  von  Goethe,  who  is  both  eccen 
tric  and  misanthropic,  thawed  towards  me,  and  I  assure  you  it 
was  a  great  satisfaction  to  visit  him  in  Goethe's  house,  and  to  see 
the  same  luminous  large  brown  eyes  beaming  on  me  as  he  talked. 
I  was  startled  at  his  personal  resemblance  to  the  poet.  Herder's 
grandson  invited  me  to  supper  before  I  ever  saw  him,  and  Wie- 
land's  granddaughter,  a  sculptress,  invited  me  to  give  my  German 
lecture  on  American  Literature  in  Weimar.  One  evening,  at  the 
hotel,  an  interesting  looking  man  of  forty,  with  a  brown  beard, 
took  his  seat  opposite  to  me,  and  we  fell  into  conversation.  Pres 
ently  Mr.  Hamilton  (of  the  noble  Scotch  clan,  who  lives  in  Wei 
mar)  came  in,  and  introduced  him  to  me  as  Baron  von  Stein, 
grandson  of  Frau  von  Stein  !  Fraulein  Frommann,  foster-sister 
of  one  of  Goethe's  loves  (Minna  Herzlieb),  though  a  woman  of 
seventy-five,  knows  and  remembers  everything,  and  she  told  me 
many  interesting  anecdotes.  She  was  for  many  years  companion 
to  the  present  Empress  Augusta,  and  enjoys  much  consideration; 
so  when  she  said  to  me,  "  I  feel  safe  with  you  ;  I  can  tell  you 
all  knowing  that  you  will  use  it  only  as  I  could  wish,"  and  re 
peated  the  same  thing  to  others,  I  was  at  once  placed  in  the  very 
relation  to  all  which  I  wished  to  have  established.  I  called  on 


642  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

the  famous  old  painter,  Preller,  whose  illustrations  of  the  Odys 
sey  are  finer  (because  simpler  and  severer)  than  anything  of 
Kaulbach's.  I  remarked  that  he  had  a  copy  of  Trippel's  glori 
ous  bust  of  Goethe,  and  said  :  "  I  have  this  bust  at  home,  and 
opposite  to  it  the  Venus  of  Milo,  as  the  woman  form  correspond 
ing  to  this  male  form."  His  eyes  shone  ;  he  rose  up  without  a 
word,  grasped  my  arm,  and  turned  me  around.  There  was  the 
.Venus  of  Milo,  opposite  Goethe!  "I  never  pass  her,"  said 
Preller,  "  without  pausing  an  instant,  and  saying  to  myself,  « My 
God,  how  beautiful  she  is  ! '"  Well,  after  that,  Preller  and  I 
became  fast  friends.  He  was  a  protege,  a  half -pupil  of  Goethe, 
whose  son  died  in  his  arms.  Afterwards,  when  Goethe  lay  dead, 
Preller  stole  into  the  room  and  made  a  wonderful  drawing  of  the 
head.  Now,  after  forty  years,  he  voluntarily  made  the  first 
copy  of  it,  with  his  own  hands,  as  a  present  for  me  !  You  may 
guess  how  I  value  it. 

Schiller's  grandson  is  an  excellent  artist.  His  pictures  are  as 
tonishingly  like  McEntee's.  I  spent  many  hours  in  his  studio. 
Schoell,  one  of  the  best  Goethe  scholars  in  Germany  (now  chief 
librarian  at  Weimar),  is  enthusiastically  in  favor  of  my  bio 
graphical  plan.  He  is  utterly  dissatisfied  with  Lewes.  He  told 
Lewes  many  particulars  which  Lewes  distorted  in  the  most  ridic 
ulous  manner.  Several  persons  told  me  that  Lewes  pumped  lack 
eys  and  old  servants  while  in  Weimar,  and  took  no  pains  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  intelligent  intimate  friends  of  Goethe.  I 
can't  say  how  much  truth  there  is  in  this  ;  /  am  most  happy  to 
find  that  I  have  nothing  of  my  own  conception  of  Goethe  to  un 
learn,  after  knowing  Weimar.  My  plan,  at  last,  stands  round  and 
complete  before  my  mind,  and  I  only  need  life  and  health  to  give 
it  a  permanent  form.  I  wish  I  had  space  to  tell  you  more  of 
what  I  learned,  and  how  immensely  I  have  been  encouraged. 

My  lecture  was  a  great  triumph.  It  was  given  in  the  hall  of 
the  Arquebusiers,  a  society  dating  from  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
whole  court  came,  Grand-Duke  and  Duchess,  Hereditary  Grand- 
Duke  and  Duchess,  the  two  charming  Princesses,  and  Prince 
Hermann,  with  adjutants  and  ladies  of  honor.  The  Grand-Duke 
came  up  to  me  with  a  mock  reproach,  and  said  :  "  There  's  one 
serious  fault  in  the  lecture  :  you  have  not  mentioned  yourself  ! 
But  come  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow,  and  we  '11  talk  more  about 
it."  Which  I  did.  The  dinner  was  superb  ;  two  Weimar  friends 
of  mine  were  invited,  otherwise  only  the  family.  I  assure  you  it 


THE  PROPHET.  643 

gave  me  a  thrill  of  pride  to  stand  in  Weimar,  with  the  grand 
children  of  Carl  August,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Herder,  and  Wieland 
among  my  auditors,  and  vindicate  the  literary  achievement  of 
America.  I  lashed  properly  the  German  idea  of  the  omnipo- 
tency  of  money  among  us  ;  recited  passages  from  Halleck,  Poe, 
Emerson,  Bryant,  and  Whittier,  and  said  a  good  word  for  E.  C. 
S.,  R.  H.  S.,  T.  B.  A.,  and  W.  D.  H.  The  lecture  seems  to  have 
made  considerable  impression,  as  an  account  of  it  has  since  gone 
the  rounds  of  most  of  the  German  papers. 

I  must  return  to  Weimar  for  another  month  in  the  spring,  and 
finish  my  studies  there.  Then  Dr.  Hirzel  of  Leipzig,  who  has 
the  best  Goethe  library  in  the  world,  allows  me  to  make  use  of 
certain  materials,  which  will  give  me  in  a  fortnight  what  would 
otherwise  require  a  year's  drudgery.  I  want  to  come  home  next 
summer,  ready  to  begin  to  write.  The  whole  work,  then,  can  be 
done  in  three  years  more,  even  allowing  occasional  interludes  of 
poetry,  as  they  come  to  me. 

I  'm  very  glad  you  like  my  "  Two  Homes."  The  idea  is  not 
new,  of  course,  but  I  think  the  form  is.  At  least  it  came  to  me 
in  a  dream,  and  I  did  not  see  why  it  was  good  until  after  the 
poem  was  written,  when  I  felt  that  the  change  from  iambic  to 
anapaestic,  terminating  with  an  unrhymed  line,  expresses  unrest 
growing  out  of  rest.  .  .  .  The  fact  is,  my  dear  old  friend,  there 
are  eternal  laws  in  literary  art  ;  thought  (in  poetry)  is  subject  to 
architectural  rules,  and  the  painted  and  tinseled  palaces  which 
just  now  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  public  are  doomed,  —  for  their 
very  material  is  ruin.  Mere  grace  of  phrase,  surface  brilliancy, 
simulated  fire,  cannot  endure  :  we  must  build  of  hewn  blocks 
from  the  everlasting  quarries,  and  then  the  fools  who  say,  "  Oh, 
there  is  no  color  in  that  ! "  will  die  long  before  our  work  shall 
dream  of  decay.  .  .  .  The  success  of  your  volume  of  poems  is 
an  excellent  sign,  and  delights  me  to  the  very  heart.  Your  suc 
cess  means  mine,  and  that  of  all  honest  poets.  You  may  depend 
upon  me  :  I  will  never  flinch  ;  my  will  is  like  adamant  to  en 
dure  until  the  end.  I  have  large  designs  yet,  and  more  real  po 
etry  in  me  than  has  hitherto  come  out  of  me.  I  see  my  way  clear, 
—  recognize  both  capacities  and  limitations  as  never  before,  and 
bate  no  jot  of  heart  or  hope.  I  hope  to  have  something  more 
ready  to  show  you  by  the  time  I  reach  home,  but  will  not  prom 
ise.  .  .  . 

Here 's  a  third  sheet :  shall  I  go  on  ?    Yes  ;  for  you  can  take 


644  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

a  cigar  and  let  me  chatter  in  your  ear,  while  you  are  relieved  of 
the  necessity  of  answering.  I  could  open  the  flood-gates  and  let 
myself  rush  out  upon  you.  I  Ve  had  no  one  near  me  for  a  long 
while  with  whom  I  could  expand,  save  a  superbly  beautiful 
young  artist  in  Weimar,  full  of  genius  but  impatient.  I  wrote  a 
German  distich  under  my  photograph  which  I  gave  him,  which  I 
may  translate  thus  :  — 

Never  forget,  O  Friend,  that  for  Art,  the  true,  the  eternal, 
Genius  is  sire  that  begets,  Patience  the  mother  that  bears  ! 

Well,  if  I  were  to  write  about  myself  for  six  hours,  it  would  all 
come  to  this  :  that  life  is,  for  me,  the  developing,  asserting,  and 
establishing  of  my  own  Entelecheia,  —  the  making  all  that  is  pos 
sible  out  of  such  powers  as  I  may  have,  without  violently  forcing 
or  distorting  them.  You  have  often,  no  doubt,  wondered  at  and 
condemned  the  variety  of  things  I  have  either  willfully  attempted 
or  been  compelled  to  do  by  the  necessities  of  my  life.  I  see  the 
use  of  all  these  attempts  now,  when  I  am  beginning  to  concen 
trate  instead  of  scatter.  If  I  am  capable  of  good  and  lasting 
work,  there  is  nothing  I  have  hitherto  done  which  will  not  now 
help  me  to  achieve  it.  All 's  well  that  ends  well.  Yes,  but  the 
end  is  not  yet  come.  It 's  enough  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  it. 

Bayard  Taylor  and  his  family  finally  left  Gotha 
February  llth,  and  by  easy  stages  traveled  to  Eome, 
where  they  stayed  a  week.  They  left  Eome  March 
1st,  and  went  to  Naples,  where  they  took  the  steamer 
for  Alexandria  ma  Messina.  On  the  13th  they  landed 
at  Alexandria,  whence  they  proceeded  to  Cairo,  return 
ing  to  Alexandria  April  6th,  and  reaching  Naples 
April  13th.  Three  days  later  they  went  to  Eome,  re 
mained  there  a  week  only,  and  then  by  Florence, 
Niirnberg,  and  Munich  to  Gotha,  which  they  reached 
May  1st.  Bayard  Taylor  occupied  himself  with  let 
ters  from  Egypt  to  the  "  Tribune,"  eleven  in  all, 
written  under  the  greatest  discomfort  of  cold  and 
storm,  and  with  one  or  two  magazine  articles.  He 
was  absorbed  for  the  time  in  Egyptology,  and  his  im 
agination  was  kindled  anew.  In  spite  of  all  the  dis- 


THE  PROPHET.  645 

agreeable   circumstances   of    the   entire    journey,   he 
gained  physically. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

ROME,  February  24,  1874. 

We  reached  here  on  Saturday  evening,  and  the  next  morning 
I  found  your  package  (E.  B.  B.,  Landor,  Hood,  Arnold,  etc.,  the 
Dartmouth  Ode,  and  Macdonough's  article).  I  read  every  line 
of  all  of  them  before  I  went  to  bed  that  evening,  and  it  is  long 
since  anything  has  so  thoroughly  refreshed  me. 

...  At  Florence  I  found  Lowell  in  the  same  hotel,  and  had 
three  good  days  with  him.  This  is  our  third  day  here,  and  we 
leave  on  Friday  for  Naples,  to  embark  for  Alexandria  on  Satur 
day.  We  shall  only  take  a  month  for  Egypt,  and  then  come 
back  to  Rome  for  April.  In  May  to  Germany,  in  July  to  Eng 
land,  in  August  to  America,  —  such  is,  D.  V.,  our"  plan.  Here,  I 
have  only  seen  the  Howitts,  the  Trollopes,  G.  P.  Marsh,  and 
(without  being  introduced  to  him)  Joaquin  Miller.  .  .  . 

I  hope  the  Eumenides  are  tired,,  and  will  now  let  me  alone  for 
a  while.  I  feel  quite  bright  and  fresh  mentally,  —  only  morally 
a  little  fagged,  after  such  a  strain  upon  my  patience.  But  it 's 
time  I  were  at  home.  I  feel  that  I  can  do  my  best  work  on  my 
native  heath,  and  this  visit  shows  me  that  (except  the  material 
for  Goethe's  life)  I  need  not  give  much  more  time  to  Europe.  I 
have  now  harvested  as  much  as  was  needed  for  my  own  special 
literary  work,  and  shall  not  attempt  anything  more  here.  My 
remaining  material  waits  at  home. 

The  letters  which  Bayard  Taylor  received  en  route 
contained  answers  to  those  which  he  had  written  with 
regard  to  his  scheme  for  an  anonymous  publication  of 
"  The  Prophet,"  and  discouraged  him  from  the  plan 
on  the  ground  that  popular  taste  was  so  indifferent  in 
the  main  to  a  poem  in  dramatic  form,  that  his  poem 
would  require  the  aid  of  his  name,  instead  of  piquing 
curiosity  as  a  new  venture  of  an  unknown  poet. 


646  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD. 

ROME,  February  24,  1874. 

Your  letter  of  January  31st,  forwarded  from  Gotha,  has  just 
reached  me.  After  sickness  in  my  family  and  innumerable  de 
lays,  I  have  just  got  thus  far  on  my  way  to  Egypt,  where  we  shall 
spend  March,  and  then  come  back  to  Rome  for  April  ;  so  in 
April  I  shall  have  everything  once  more  revised  and  fairly  copied 
in  a  different  hand.  You  may  expect  the  whole  MS.  early  in 
May.  In  a  venture  of  this  kind  the  form  (to  my  thinking)  is  not 
a  very  material  matter  ;  a  narrative  poem  would  almost  inevita 
bly  have  betrayed  me  to  some  few.  I  don't  think  any  one  will 
charge  me  with  this.  The  simple  fact  is,  the  subject  was  dramat 
ically  conceived  in  the  beginning,  six  or  seven  years  ago,  has 
been  dramatically  evolved  and  elaborated  in  my  mind,  so  that, 
even  before  beginning  to  write,  any  other  form  was  wholly  im 
possible.  In  hoc  signo,  then  ! 

I  shall  write  to  Aldrich,  also,  whose  generous  concurrence  in 
the  plan  will  be  a  great  help  to  me.  Meantime,  now  that  you 
are  willing  to  try  the  experiment,  I  will  turn  over  in  my  mind 
what  can  further  be  done  to  make  it  successful,  —  say  in  the  way 
of  fragmentary  passages,  short  poems  of  a  striking  character,  etc. 
By  the  time  I  get  back  to  Rome  I  hope  to  have  all  such  accesso 
ries  decided  upon,  subject  to  your  and  T.  B.  A.'s  good  judgment. 
The  more  mystery  we  employ,  the  better.  I  'd  send  you  a  pas 
sage  or  two  from  the  tragedy  now  for  your  private  perusal  if  I 
had  time  to  copy  ;  but  we  have  only  two  days  more  here,  mean 
ing  to  embark  at  Naples  on  Saturday. 

I  have  hoodwinked  all  intimate  friends,  by  writing  only  of  my 
Goethe-studies,  and  if  you  bring  out  "  The  Prophet "  at  the  be 
ginning  of  the  season,  I  'm  sure  no  one  of  them  will  suspect  me. 

TO   T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

ROME,  February  24,  1874. 

Your  most  welcome  letter  reached  me  last  Wednesday  in 
Florence.  We  had  arrived  the  evening  before,  and  on  reaching 
the  Hotel  du  Nord  I  found  that  Lowell  was  staying  there.  Af 
ter  dinner  we  smoked  a  cigar  together,  talked  of  Elmwood  and 
you,  and  made  quite  a  Cambridge  atmosphere  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  old  Tuscan  city.  We  breakfasted  together  for  three  days, 
and  dined  vis-a-vis  at  the  table  d'hote  with  Henry  James.  Lowell 


THE  PROPHET.  647 

meant  to  join  us  for  the  trip  to  Rome  on  Saturday,  but  was  so 
fagged  after  finishing  a  long  poem  on  Friday  afternoon  that  he 
decided  to  wait  until  Monday.  .  .  .  We  are  still,  as  regards 
health,  a  shabby,  dilapidated  family,  and  look  forward  to  the 
specifics  which  shall  restore  us.  We  hope  to  embark  at  Naples 
for  Alexandria  on  Saturday,  spend  a  month  in  Cairo,  and  come 
back  to  Rome  for  April. 

As  regards  "  The  Prophet,"  I  think  it  can't  make  any  serious 
difference.  It  could  not,  as  I  conceived  it,  be  anything  but  a 
dramatic  poem.  A  story  would  be  very  apt  to  betray  me,  and 
this  will  not.  The  MS.  will  be  copied  and  forwarded  in  April, 
and  you  can  then  judge.  Meantime  (as  I  have  just  written  to 
Osgood),  I  '11  study  ways  and  means  of  mystery,  provocations  of 
curiosity,  etc.,  and  forward  whatever  I  can  do  in  that  line  to  you 
two,  subject  to  your  good  judgment.  I  know  you  will  like  the 
work  itself,  for  it  is  honest  and  earnest.  When  you  suggested  to 
me  the  "  Seven  Mormon  Wives  "  in  the  street,  I  had  already  my 
plan  nearly  complete,  and  it  cost  me  an  effort  not  to  tell  you  so. 
I  make  the  origin  of  the  Mormon  sect  and  the  Joe  Smith  tragedy 
the  historical  background  of  my  poem  ;  but  my  plot  has  the 
universal  human  element.  It  stirs  up  more  than  one  question 
which  disturbs  the  undercurrents  of  the  world  just  now  ;  for  it  is 
pervaded  with  that  sort  of  logic  which  lay  behind  the  Greek  idea 
of  fate. 

TO  GEORGE   H.   YEWELL. 

HOTEL  DU  NIL,  CAIRO,  March  20,  1874. 

I  must  use  the  coming  mail-day  to  let  you  know  how  we  are 
getting  on.  Now  that  the  winter  finally  seems  to  be  at  an  end,  I 
am  more  socially  inclined  than  since  leaving  Rome,  for  we  have 
all  been  growling  like  bears  on  account  of  the  cold.  At  Naples 
we  fairly  froze  ;  even  burning  five  francs'  worth  of  wood  every 
day  did  not  keep  us  warm.  Excursions  were  impossible,  for  the 
wind  pierced  to  the  marrow.  Then,  after  waiting  a  week  to  meet 
my  old  friend  Boker,  I  was  forced  to  leave  the  very  same  day 
when  he  probably  arrived. 

We  had  a  delightful  passage  to  Messina,  and  the  sun  there 
was  a  very  little  warmer.  Etna  was  a  solid  cone  of  snow,  and 
even  the  Calabrian  mountains  were  very  wintry.  The  second 
night  was  somewhat  rough,  and  the  next  day  we  were  all  a  little 
sea-sick  ;  but  after  that  the  conditions  gradually  improved,  the 
sea  growing  smoother  and  the  air  warmer.  We  saw  the  Morea, 


648  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Cerigo,  and  Crete,  and  reached  Alexandria  in  cloudless  weather 
in  just  five  days.  On  the  whole  it  was  a  good  voyage,  although 
the  steamer  was  small  and  not  very  comfortable. 

We  stayed  nearly  two  days  at  Alexandria,  going  about 
among  the  bazars  and  to  native  cafes.  The  temperature  was 
72°  in  the  shade,  with  clear  sky  and  a  soft,  cool  wind,  —  a 
heavenly  change  from  Italy.  Then  the  journey  by  rail  hither 
was  a  perfect  delight,  and  when  we  sat  in  the  garden  of  palms 
of  this  hotel  in  the  evening,  we  felt  that  we  could  ask  nothing 
more.  But  on  Tuesday  (17th)  a  furious  north  wind  blew  ;  on 
Wednesday  it  rained  the  whole  day  at  a  temperature  of  45°, 
and  yesterday  I  wrote  my  letters  wearing  an  overcoat  !  Too 
late  for  Egypt,  everybody  said  in  Rome.  Too  soon,  /  say  ; 
for  we  have  really  suffered  from  the  cold  until  to-day.  The 
heavens  are  now  serene  again,  and  this  afternoon  existence  is  a 
luxury.  We  have  not  been  farther  than  to  the  Citadel  and  the 
Nile  :  the  wind  is  still  too  cool  for  longer  excursions.  I  think 
we  are  sure  of  fine  weather  from  this  time  on,  after  such  unpre 
cedented  cold.  The  hotel  is  capital  ;  so  far,  we  can  live  cheaper 
than  in  Italy,  for  wine  is  the  only  extra.  My  old  dragoman  of 
twenty-two  years  ago,  Achmet,  is  alive,  as  I  firmly  believed,  in 
spite  of  Gifford's  report  of  his  death.  He  was  overjoyed  to  see 
me  again,  and  looks  after  us  like  a  father.  My  cough  and  irrita 
tion  of  the  throat  is  all  gone,  and  M.  is  recovering  her  strength 
as  rapidly  as  I  could  expect.  We  mean  to  go  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  up  the  Nile  by  rail  to  the  tombs  of  Beni-Hassan.  The 
pyramids  look  grander  than  ever.  We  have  found  lots  of  won 
derful  interiors  for  you  to  paint.  Although  Cairo  has  greatly 
changed,  all  the  new  city  being  European  and  not  picturesque, 
nearly  all  the  best  things  are  left.  To-day  we  saw  the  dancing 
dervishes,  and  drove  to  the  Nile  under  such  a  delicate,  pearly 
sky  as  you  rarely  have  seen,  if  ever,  —  clouds  like  dim,  lilac-tinted 
opal,  above  the  warm  glory  of  the  desert  hills.  Against  this  the 
white  citadel-mosque,  under  it  a  brown  belt  of  buildings,  and 
nearer  clumps  of  palms  rising  above  dazzlingly  green  wheat- 
fields.  You  can  imagine  the  effect. 

My  Arabic  comes  back  astonishingly.  I  am  already  nearly 
independent  of  interpreters.  The  natives,  most  of  whom  have  a 
smattering  of  English,  open  their  eyes  in  wonder  when  I  bring 
out  a  full  sentence  of  their  own  tongue,  and  instantly  become 
friendship  itself.  I  find  that  I  like  them  better  than  ever.  I  am 


THE  PROPHET.  649 

particularly  glad  that  Egypt  makes  such  an  effect  on  my  wife. 
She  came  with  a  little  reluctance,  but  she  is  now  fairly  possessed 
with  the  indescribable  fascination  of  the  land.  Would  that  you 

were  here  ! 

CAIRO,  March  28,  1874. 

We  Ve  about  decided  to  sail  from  Alexandria  on  the  7th  of 
April,  and  shall  consequently,  D.  V.,  reach  Rome  by  the  loth  or 
16th.  I  am  sorry  to  return  so  soon,  for  I  enjoy  Egypt  as  much, 
if  not  more,  than  ever  before  ;  but  we  really  can't  afford  any 
more  time.  The  weather,  now,  is  simply  perfect,  —  75°  at  noon, 
in  the  shade,  always  a  light  breeze,  clover-scents  in  the  air,  all 
trees  in  young  leaf,  wheat  coming  into  head,  —  not  too  cold  to  sit, 
or  too  warm  to  walk.  I  have  not  had  such  an  appetite  for  a 
long  time,  and  my  whole  night's  sleep,  done  in  one  piece,  seems 
about  fifteen  minutes  long.  Moreover,  Cairo  is  hardly  dearer 
than  Rome,  the  Mussulmen  are  as  cheerful  and  friendly  as  ever, 
the  old  picturesqueness  lingers  everywhere,  and  each  day  is  thus 
a  new  satisfaction. 

We  have  been  to  the  Pyramids  and  various  palaces  and  gar 
dens  on  both  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  to-morrow  I  go  to  the 
Fyoom.  Next  week  we  shall  visit  Suez.  From  what  the  Amer 
ican  Consul  says,  I  should  not  be  afraid  to  spend  the  whole  sum 
mer  here. 

NAPLES,  Tuesday,  April  14, 1874. 

We  arrived  last  night,  after  a  long  and  disagreeable  voyage, 
although  the  weather  was  not  bad.  We  are  all  dilapidated  :  my 
wife  is  quite  exhausted,  and  this  moment  comes  the  sad  news  of 
her  father's  death.  I  have  had  a  headache  for  a  week,  —  a  thing 
I  never  had  before  in  my  life, — but  am  already  better  to-day. 
We  shall  try  to  get  to  Rome  on  Thursday,  and  I  feel  tolerably 
sure  we  shall,  but  may  have  to  wait  until  Friday,  on  M.'s  account. 
Will  you  please  engage  rooms  — primo  piano,  if  possible,  but  cer 
tainly  not  higher  than  secondo  —  at  the  Stati  Uniti,  for  Thursday 
evening.  I  '11  pay  for  the  day,  in  case  we  are  delayed  until  Fri 
day.  We  are  very  anxious  to  reach  Rome,  on  account  of  letters 
from  Germany.  Our  plans  are  quite  uncertain,  and  we  cannot 
take  apartments,  even  for  one  month. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  Sunday,  May  3,  1874. 

I  can  scarcely  believe  that  it  is  only  a  week  yesterday  since  we 
took  leave  of  you.  The  trip  to  Florence  was  somehow  very 


650  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

fatiguing  to  all  of  us,  but  it  came  to  an  end,  as  all  things  do,  and 
Graham,  looking  better  than  I  have  seen  him  for  a  long  while, 
with  Boker,  were  waiting  for  us  at  the  station.  We  stayed  at 
the  Orsini  [Palace]  until  ten  A.  M.  Tuesday,  and  our  stay  was 
wholly  delightful.  Dr.  Wilson  made  a  thorough  examination  of 
my  physical  condition,  which  he  pronounced  excellent,  and  much 
better  than  last  year.  As  you  may  imagine,  I  have  felt  better 
ever  since. 

I  dreaded  the  further  journey,  as  M.  was  still  very  weak,  and 
L.  became  indisposed  in  Florence.  However,  we  took  a  bottle  of 
beef -tea,  extract  of  ginger,  brandy,  etc.,  along,  and  kept  on  to 
Verona  the  same  day,  arriving  at  midnight.  There  we  rested 
until  two  P.  M.,  Wednesday,  and  started  again,  fortunately  secur 
ing  a  coupe  for  three,  with  seats  and  foot-shelves,  which  enabled 
us  to  lie  down.  By  midnight  we  were  on  the  summit  of  the 
Brenner,  and  soon  after  sunrise  reached  Munich.  There  were  5° 
of  cold  in  Bavaria,  the  car-windows  sheeted  with  ice,  white  frost 
far  and  wide,  and  all  fruit  destroyed.  We  really  suffered  from 
the  cold.  At  Niirnberg,  where  we  arrived  before  eleven,  we 
thawed  out  and  rested  all  day.  Finally,  on  Friday,  seven  hours 
more  of  travel  brought  us  to  Gotha.  M.  stood  the  journey  won 
derfully  well.  She  is  decidedly  better  and  stronger  already. 
We  find  her  mother  somewhat  resigned  to  her  loss,  and  physi 
cally  better  than  we  expected  to  find- her.  The  season  is  almost 
as  far  advanced  as  in'  Rome,  and  after  two  raw,  stormy  days 
there  is  this  morning  a  promise  of  sunshine  and  milder  air. 

I  find  another  "  Job's  post "  (as  the  Germans  say)  waiting  for 
me  :  a  letter  from  Appletons  coolly  informs  me  that  the  new  illus 
trations  for  my  "  German  History,"  which  they  decided  to  have 
made  last  October,  have  not  yet  been  commenced  !  Six  months 
thrown  away,  and  the  publication  delayed  for  a  year  after  my 
work  is  finished,  and  this,  after  urging  me  to  perform  my  part 
as  speedily  as  possible  !  Such  are  an  author's  experiences  ;  let 
them  console  you  whenever  you  think  an  artist's  are  hard. 
Moreover,  I  am  paid  nothing  in  advance,  and  the  investment  of 
the  labor  of  nearly  a  year  is  thus  allowed  to  wait. 

Never  mind  :  I  have  got  back  my  old  pluck  and  hopefulness. 
I  shall  jump  into  steady  work  now,  beginning  to-morrow  morning. 


THE  PROPHET.  651 


TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD. 

GOTHA,  GERMANY,  May  16,  1874. 

My  wife's  lack  of  health  and  strength  has  delayed  me  a  week 
longer,  but  now  I  trust  that  you  will  have  everything  by  the  10th  or 
15th  of  June.  There  is  no  one  here  whom  I  can  get  as  a  copyist, 
so  the  labor  falls  on  her.  The  first  and  second  acts,  which  I  now 
send,  bring  nearly  all  the  characters  upon  the  stage,  and  fairly 
start  the  plot ;  the  Remaining  three  acts  have  much  more  action 
and  passion.  I  shall  be  curious  to  get  your  personal  impression 
and  T.  B.  A.'s  of  the  quality  of  the  work. 

Except  my  wife,  the  only  human  being  who  has  seen  the  MS. 
is  Boker.  We  came  together  in  Italy  a  month  ago.  I  can  trust 
him  wholly,  and,  needing  the  critical  judgment  of  at  least  one 
friend,  I  asked  him  to  read  it.  He  seemed  to  be  especially  struck 
by  its  dramatic  character.  I  '11  not  give  his  views  further,  ex 
cept  to  say  that  they  were  satisfactory  to  me.  But  he  very  much 
doubts  the  expediency  of  publishing  anonymously.  He  thinks,  as 
you  do,  that  a  dramatic  poem  without  the  author's  name  is  not 
likely  to  make  a  sudden  or  strong  impression  on  the  public,  — 
hence,  that  its  success  (in  a  business  point  of  view)  would  be 
much  more  probable  if  my  name  were  put  upon  the  title-page. 
Now,  inasmuch  as  the  suggestion  of  anonymity  came  first  from 
T.  B.  A.,  I  am  quite  willing  that  you  and  he  should  decide  the 
question  after  you  have  read  the  whole  of  the  MS.  I  shall  also 
write  to  T.  B.  by  this  mail. 

I  '11  send  with  the  final  installment  two  short  poems,1  which  may 
be  used  as  an  additional  "  blind  "  if  you  decide  to  carry  out  the 
anonymous.  It  will  be  time  enough  by  August  or  the  beginning 
of  September  to  set  your  traps,  as  you  will  hardly  publish  before 
October  1st.  It  seems  to  me  the  trade  must  improve  from  this 
time  on,  and  that  next  fall  will  be  a  favorable  season. 

Please  acknowledge  receipt  of  these  two  acts  in  a  line  or  two. 
My  address  will  be  Gotha  for  eight  or  ten  weeks  to  come,  as  we 
stay  here  until  ready  to  start  for  home. 

While  hastening  to  complete  the  work  which  de 
tained  him  in  Europe,  Bayard  Taylor  received  an 

1  The  poems  sent  were  three,  A  Lover's  Test,  My  Prologue,  and  Ga 
briel 


652  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

urgent  request  from  Mr.  Keid  to  go  to  Iceland  to  re 
port  for  the  "  Tribune "  the  celebration  of  the  one 
thousandth  anniversary  of  the  first  settlement  of  the 
island.  "  To  the  few  who  have  never  known  any 
other  Alma  Mater  than  the  New  York  '  Tribune,'  "  he 
wrote  in  his  first  letter  describing  the  trip,  "  her  (or 
its)  call  is  like  that  of  the  trumpet  unto  the  war- 
horse."  He  was  very  impatient  to  be  at  home  again, 
and  at  first  it  seemed  as  if  he  should  be  compelled  to 
abandon  the  excursion  on  account  of  the  impossibility 
of  bringing  it  within  the  time  which  he  could  give, 
in  justice  to  American  engagements  already  made. 
But  Mr.  Cyrus  Field  was  going  and  had  chartered  a 
steamer.  This  was  an  opportunity  too  good  to  de 
cline,  and  Bayard  Taylor  joined  other  correspondents 
in  sharing  the  use  and  expense  of  this  conveyance. 

TO  JERVIS    MCENTEE. 

GOTHA,  July  7,  1874. 

Yours  of  June  14th  was  a  welcome  surprise  and  a  hearty  cheer 
to  my  soul,  as  all  your  letters  are.  I  must  write  once  more,  so 
that  there  shall  be  no  gaps  to  be  filled  up  when  we  meet,  but 
each  will  know  just  about  where  the  other  stands.  It  seems  to 
me  that  there  is  a  sort  of  relationship  between  our  fates,  —  per 
haps  because  we  both  have  high  aims  and  have  patiently  endured 
unrecognition.  Your  experience  in  art  during  the  last  six  months 
is  much  like  mine  in  literature.  In  spite  of  hard  times,  my  copy 
right  accounts  show  an  increase  of  nearly  fifty  per  cent,  in  the 
sales  of  my  books.  Reid  writes  that  my  Tribune  letters  are 
more  popular  than  any  I  have  written  for  many  years,  and  that 
the  sneerers  and  cavilers  are  growing  silent  one  by  one,  so  I  can 
fairly  hope  for  a  better  reception  for  the  works  to  come.  More 
over,  having  at  last  finished  my  Goethe-studies,  I  find  that  my 
original  conception  of  the  plan  of  the  biography  was  the  true  one, 
and  the  best  scholars  in  Germany  have  only  confirmed,  not  spe 
cially  instructed  me.  Between  over-confidence  and  self-doubt 
there  is  a  delicate  line  to  walk,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  had  found  it, 
and  as  if  each  step  were  upon  secure  ground. 


THE  PROPHET.  653 

...  I  have  done  many  things  which  have  been  not  understood 
by  my  author  friends,  because  they  were  inevitable  preparations 
for  something  higher.  When  I  gave  up  the  sensuous  vein  of  po 
etry,  and  grew  tired  to  death  of  merely  descriptive  prose,  I  made 
some  blunders,  of  course,  but  they  were  in  the  right  direction. 

Even has  blamed  what  he  called  the  "  metaphysical  element " 

(although  it  is  really  psychological)  in  some  of  my  later  works, 
not  foreseeing  that  I  should  beat  my  way  through  it,  and  use  the 
experience  in  the  "  Masque  "  and  "  Lars."  How  often  have  the 

s  said,  "  Why  don't  you  write  so-and-so,  which  you  used  to 

do  so  well  ?  "  —  as  if  I  could  recall  a  lost  impulse,  or  silence  a 
later  one  !  No  ;  if  we  carefully  measure  our  strength  we  must, 
as  a  matter  of  natural  development,  steadily  become  capable  of 
higher  and  longer  flights,  until  the  decay  of  force  sets  in.  May 
the  latter  period  be  many  years  off  for  you  and  me  ! 

By  the  time  this  reaches  you  I  shall  probably  be  in  Iceland. 
(A  secret.  Say  nothing  until  you  see  it  announced  in  the  "  Trib 
une.")  Reid  wants  me  to  report  the  Millennial  Celebration  ; 
but  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  giving  it  up,  until  Saturday, 
when  Smalley  telegraphed  to  me  from  London  that  Cyrus  Field 
had  chartered  a  special  steamer  and  offered  me  a  berth  in  it.  So 
I  must  go,  —  not  very  enthusiastically,  but  I  cannot  deny  Reid, 
who  has  been  such  a  helpful  friend  to  me  since  Greeley's  death. 
I  hope  to  be  back  in  England  by  the  middle  of  August,  and  home 
by  the  1st  of  September.  M.  and  L.  will  wait  in  Germany  mean 
time. 

I  have  just  returned  from  Weimar  and  Leipzig,  where  I  have 
met  with  great  encouragement.  I  found  Baron  von  Gleichen 
hard  at  work,  and  developing  finely.  He  has  a  large  picture, 
six  by  four  feet,  —  hunter  and  deer  in  a  brown  November  copse, 
—  which  is  capital.  He  gave  me  his  mother's  copy  of  the  life  of 
her  mother,  Schiller's  wife.  The  older  Goethe  at  last  opened  all 
Goethe's  rooms  for  me,  and  the  Grand-Duke  invited  me  to  din 
ner  or  tea  almost  every  day.  Everybody  seemed  willing  and 
anxious  to  be  of  assistance  in  my  researches,  and  I  came  away 
feeling  really  richly  fitted  out  for  the  biography.  In  Leipzig  I 
went  through  eighteen  folio  scrap-books  of  newspaper  articles 
concerning  Goethe,  and  this  saves  me  some  months  of  time.  I 
have  made  a  list  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  works  to  be 
consulted,  —  in  short,  am  ready,  when  I  reach  home  and  have 
earned  enough  to  keep  the  pot  boiling  for  six  months,  to  break 
ground  and  push  bravely  forward  with  the  MS.  of  the  work.  I  've 


654  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

written  a  few  short  poems,  but  don't  mean  to  publish  them  im 
mediately.  Moreover,  I  've  accepted  an  invitation  to  preside  at 
a  national  convention  of  the  A  K  E  fraternity,  students  north  and 
south,  at  the  University  of  Virginia,  in  October.  After  that  be 
gins  the  lecturing  campaign  for  three  months. 

I  feel  like  a  fallow  field  waiting  for  plough  and  drill,  —  and  this 
in  spite  of  a  great  deal  of  desultory  work.  Of  course  I  'in  in 
capital  spirits.  Give  me  the  least  bit  of  appreciation,  and  the 
embers  break  into  a  fresh  blaze  at  once.  Let  us  only  live  twenty 
years  longer,  and  we  shall  all  see  our  best  days  !  We  must  have 
a  closer,  yet  a  freer  intercourse  of  all  artists  ;  the  time  is  ripe 
for  it. 

TO  J.   R.   OSGOOD. 

LONDON,  July  16,  1874. 

Your  brief  line  of  June  26th,  saying  you  had  all  the  copy, 
reached  Gotha  just  before  I  left  there  ;  but  I  fear  that  I  may  not 
get  the  more  important  facts  of  impression,  decision,  etc.,  from 
both  you  and  T.  B.  A.  for  a  month  to  come.  I  leave  on  Sunday 
for  a  trip  to  Iceland  in  a  private  steamer,  with  Cyrus  Field,  Tom 
Appleton,  Dr.  Hayes,  Murat  Halstead,  and  one  of  Gladstone's 
sons.  (Keep  this  secret  for  a  week  or  two.)  We  shall  be  back 
in  about  a  month,  after  which  I  shall  sail  with  family  immedi 
ately  for  home,  expecting,  D.  V.,  to  reach  New  York  during  the 
first  September  week.  I  want  to  read  at  least  plate-proofs  be 
fore  publication,  and  there  will  be  time.  But  there  can  be  no 
further  conference  about  the  manner  of  publication  ;  hence  the 
failure  to  receive  any  advice  or  judgment  from  you  (inevitable, 
it  seems)  before  I  start  for  Iceland  is  a  considerable  disappoint 
ment  to  me.  I  can  only  say,  decide  upon  the  course  that  seems 
best  to  you  after  reading  the  MS.,  and  go  ahead,  in  God's  name  ! 
Take  the  beginning  of  the  season,  if  you  can,  for  I  suspect  that 
the  business  success  of  the  volume,  if  it  come  at  all,  will  come 
after  a  certain  class  has  read  it  and  begun  to  talk  about  it. 

The  decision  of  his  publisher  and  friend  was  ad 
verse  to  the  anonymous  publication  of  "  The  Prophet," 
and  his  own  desire  for  it  had  grown  somewhat  feebler. 
The  writing  of  three  poems  which  were  to  be  in  dis 
guise  of  his  own  style  cooled  his  ardor.  He  could 
write  parodies  with  singular  ease,  but  to  write  genuine 
poetry  which  was  not  in  imitation,  and  into  which  he 


THE  PROPHET.  655 

did  not  put  his  whole  soul,  was  contrary  to  all  his  in 
stincts  and  reason.  The  game  was  not  worth  the 
candle.  Besides,  he  was  exhilarated  by  signs  of  a 
stronger  faith  in  him  on  the  part  of  the  public,  and 
he  was  in  no  mood  to  play  a  game.  He  was  more 
eager  to  move  forward  in  his  own  chosen  way.  He 
was  not  disappointed,  therefore,  at  the  conclusion  of 
his  scheme. 

He  left  Aberdeen  July  22d,  and  was  back  in  Edin 
burgh  August  14th.  While  absent,  and  after  his  re 
turn  to  England,  he  wrote  a  dozen  letters  to  the  "  Trib 
une  "  and  had  the  pleasure  besides  of  contributing  to 
the  festivities  at  Rejkiavik  a  poem,  "America  to  Ice 
land,"  which  was  translated  into  Icelandic.  He  re 
turned  the  compliment  by  translating  into  English,  an 
Icelandic  poem  of  address  to  the  king  of  Denmark, 
written  by  Mr.  Magnusson.  On  the  20th  of  August 
he  rejoined  his  family  in  Gotha ;  on  the  26th  they 
sailed  from  Hamburg,  and  on  the  9th  of  September 
landed  in  New  York. 

TO  WHITELAW  REID. 

LONDON,  "August  18,  1874. 

Smalley  can  testify  to  the  immense  relief  I  experienced  on 
mailing  my  last  letter  to  you  last  evening.  The  work  is  finished, 
and  it  will  be  well  or  ill  done  ;  I  've  done  my  best,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  and  can  do  no  more. 

Putnams  have  written  to  me  about  making  a  volume  out  of 
the  Egyptian  letters,  etc.,  and  Halstead  insists  that  they  were  so 
popular  that  a  volume  entitled  "  Egypt  and  Iceland  "  would  have 
a  large  sale.  What  do  you  think  ?  I  shall  write  to  young  Put 
nam  to-day  to  see  you  about  it,  since,  if  decided  upon,  the  let 
ters  ought  not  to  appear  in  any  of  the  "Tribune's"  special 
sheets.  If  I  can  make  a  few  hundred  dollars  that  way  this  fall, 
so  much  the  better. 

And  now,  good-by  from  Europe  for  the  last  time  !     I  'm  only 
too  glad  that  I  can  write  it. 
VOL.  n.  16 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IN   THE   HAKNESS   AGAIN. 

1874-1876. 

'T  is  not  for  idle  ease  we  pray, 
But  freedom  for  our  task  divine. 

Implora  Pace. 

WHEN  Bayard  Taylor  returned  to  America  in  the 
fall  of  1874,  he  was  full  of  a  new  hope.  Two  days 
after  he  landed,  "  The  Prophet  "  was  published.  He 
went  directly  with  his  family  to  Cedarcrof t,  and  was  a 
guest  in  his  own  house.  Immediately  letters  poured 
in  upon  him  with  invitations  to  lecture.  It  was  like 
old  times.  He  set  about  preparing  at  once  for  the 
press  his  volume,  "  Egypt  and  Iceland,"  which  was 
published  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  in  October,  and  he 
wrote  a  new  lecture  on  "  Ancient  Egypt."  There  were 
abundant  signs  of  an  increase  in  his  popularity.  His 
letters  to  the  "  Tribune  "  during  his  absence  had  been 
of  a  character  to  add  substantially  to  his  reputation, 
and  the  "  Tribune  "  itself  had  given  him  an  honorable 
prominence  in  its  record  of  literature  and  news. 

He  had  need  of  all  this  encouragement,  for  he  knew 
well  what  labor  lay  before  him,  and  how  distant  was 
yet  the  fulfillment  of  his  dream  of  freedom  from  care 
and  leisure  for  the  highest  work.  He  had  brought 
with  him  a  library  of  books  to  aid  him  in  his  Goethe 
and  Schiller  biography ;  he  had  rich  stores  of  material 
in  his  capacious  memory,  and  he  was  eager  to  begin 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  657 

the  work  which  opened  before  him  so  finely.  Poetic 
schemes  also  were  pushing  their  way  forward  in  his 
mind.  But  all  must  be  postponed  until  he  could  pro 
vide  the  means  of  living.  He  used  a  little  of  his  new 
material  in  a  series  of  papers,  "Autumn  Days  in 
Weimar,"  which  he  now  began  for  the  "  Atlantic," 1 
but  his  principal  resource  for  the  winter  was  lecturing, 
which  seemed  to  have  revived  not  only  for  him  but  for 
lecturers  at  large.  He  was  vigorous  and  hopeful.  He 
knew  his  own  mind.  Life  stretched  out  before  him 
with  fair  prospects,  and  through  the  hard  work,  the 
drudgery  which  awaited  him,  he  saw  those  mounts  of 
poetry  which  made  all  toil  but  a  light  affliction  for  the 
moment. 

TO    T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  16,  1874. 

Thanks  for  your  unchanged  voice  of  welcome  !  M.,  L.,  and  I 
return  as  much  love  as  you  can  possibly  send  us. 

The  Iceland  trip,  by  postponing  my  return  home  for  a  whole 
month,  overwhelms  me  with  work.  The  copy  for  the  book 
"Egypt  and  Iceland"  is  finished  to-day,  and  I  have  as  much 
more  work  as  I  can  do  for  a  month,  when  I  begin  lecturing.  I 
must  go  back  to  my  old  "  stand-by,"  thankful  for.  the  shekels  it 
will  assure  me.  I  want  to  secure  a  year's  expenses  in  advance, 
and  then  go  to  work  on  the  Goethe.  I  may  pass  through  Bos 
ton  about  October  5th  or  6th  on  my  way  to  or  from  my  first 
lecture  in  New  Hampshire,  —  otherwise  I  shall  hardly  get 
there  before  next  January.  I  go  West  the  end  of  October,  and 
return  about  Christmas,  after  which  we  settle  in  New  York  for 
good. 

It 's  a  good  sign  to  me  that  you  Ve  read  the  "  Prophet "  again, 
and  I  'm  eager  to  know  what  impression  it  makes  on  you.  If 
you  think  your  warning  in  regard  to  the  new  critics  will  alarm 
me,  you  're  mistaken.  I  'in  preciously  indifferent  to  all  criticism 

that  is  not  sound  and  intelligent.     Let  the multiply.     Even 

this  year's  harvest  has  its  Colorado  bugs.    As  for  poetry,  I  shall 

1  Since  republished  in  Essays  and  Notes,  together  with  a  later  paper, 
"  Weimar  in  June." 


658  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

go  on  writing  it,  whether  the  public  reads  or  not ;  yea,  I  shall 
write  it  and  publish  it,  though  I  should  be  forced  to  pay  all  ex 
penses  and  give  away  the  volumes  !  Smile,  pity,  condemn,  — 
but  believe ! 

.  .  .  We  come  back  quite  penniless,  but  never  jollier.  I  get 
invitations  to  lecture  every  day,  and  have  only  a  little  gap  to 
bridge  over  before  I  earn  instead  of  merely  spending. 

TO   JERVIS    MCENTEE. 
KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  September  17,  1874. 

After  escaping  from  a  fearful  West-India  hurricane,  which 
met  us  off  Nova  Scotia,  we  landed  on  the  afternoon  of  the  9th, 
and  reached  here  on  the  llth.  Your  most  cheerful  and  inspir 
iting  letter  missed  me  in  London,  and  only  overtook  me  here  ; 
and  I  should  have  written  on  reading  but  for  the  mountain  of 
work  waiting  for  me.  Since  my  arrival  I  have  prepared  all  the 
copy  for  a  book  on  "  Egypt  and  Iceland,"  and  begun  to  read  the 
proofs.  Now  I  must  write  a  lecture,  an  oration,  and  an  article 
for  the  "  Atlantic,"  all  by  October  4th,  at  which  time  I  begin 
to  lecture,  and  expect  to  keep  it  up  all  winter.  Having  three 
different  works  out  this  fall,  the  "  Egypt,"  etc.,  the  "  Prophet," 
and  my  "  History  of  Germany,"  I  can  afford  to  drop  the  pen  for 
six  months  and  go  to  earning  money,  until  I  have  a  year's  ex 
penses  in  advance,  when  I  shall  sit  down  to  my  life  of  Goethe. 
I  never  said  a  word  about  the  "  Prophet "  to  you  because  Os- 
good  first  meant  to  publish  it  anonymously,  and  only  gave  up 
the  plan  at  the  last  moment,  —  but  it  is  my  most  ambitious,  cer 
tainly  my  strongest  poem.  There  are  so  many  typographical 
errors  that  I  'm  waiting  to  have  them  corrected  before  I  send 
you  a  copy. 

M.  will  hardly  go  to  New  York  before  Christmas,  and  I  sup 
pose  you  '11  not  go  much  before  ;  but  I  have  a  mighty  longing 
to  see  your  Michelangelic  beard  again.  We  're  a  family  party 
here  at  Cedarcroft,  —  the  old  folks,  my  sister  A.,  husband,  and 
two  children,  sister  E.  and  two  children,  and  we  three,  and  a 
French  governess.  M.  and  I  are  visitors,  practically,  having 
nothing  to  do  with  housekeeping,  and  it 's  a  great  comfort.  I 
was  quite  used  up  by  the  hardships  of  my  Icelandic  trip,  and 
have  not  really  been  rested  since  ;  but  I  feel  full  of  fresh 
energy  and  hope,  and  trust  that  I  shall  come  out  all  right. 
Reid  has  been  exceedingly  good  and  kmd,  and  the  Iceland  let- 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  659 

ters  seem  to  be  popular  all  over  the  country.  The  invitations 
to  lecture  come  in  as  they  used  to  do  in  my  old  shallow  days,  and 
this  time  I  shall  not  slight  the  aid  they  bring. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 
KENNETT  SQUARE,  Sunday,  September  20,  1874. 

Our  position  is  just  this  :  I  mean  to  keep  Cedarcfoft  (until 
there  is  a  good  chance  of  selling)  as  a  home  for  my  parents, 
my  sister  A.  and  family,  etc. ;  but  not  to  lease  it  again  and  risk 
such  losses  and  abuse  of  property  as  I  had  to  endure  while  in 
Europe.  "  Our  purpose  holds  "  to  move  to  New  York  as  soon 
as  convenient.  We  need  not  do  so  before  the  end  of  the  year, 
and  I  shall  have  no  funds  for  the  migration  and  new  settlement 
before  the  middle  of  November. 

Don't  rashly  suspect  me  of  over-haste  in  my  work.  You  know 
my  habit  of  mentally  considering  and  arranging  for  months  in 
advance  of  writing.  So  it  is  now,  and  the  speech  will  not  be 
over  half  an  hour  long,  nor  the  lecture  more  than  an  hour  and  a 
quarter.  I  have  already  a  fair  prospect  of  eighty  lecture  en 
gagements,  which  will  lift  me  out  of  this  vale  of  penury,  and 
seat  me  on  the  modest  height  of  "  easy  circumstances." 

None  of  the  signs  of  recognition  which  Bayard  Tay 
lor  received  on  his  return  to  America  touched  him  so 
nearly  as  the  spontaneous,  unaffected  welcome  which 
his  old  friends  and  neighbors  gave  him*  They  invited 
him  to  a  picnic  on  October  12th,  at  Mt.  Cuba,  a 
lovely  spot  at  the  end  of  the  Hockessin  Valley,  a  few 
miles  from  Kennett  Square,  and  the  scene  of  the  Amer 
ican  incidents  in  "  Lars."  The  pretty  pavilion  was 
decorated  with  autumn  leaves  and  flowers  and  with 
verses  from  the  poet's  works ;  words  of  welcome  were 
spoken  and  poems  read,  and  Bayard  Taylor,  respond 
ing  to  the  greeting,  spoke  as  one  would  speak  to  a 
familiar  friend,  freely  disclosing  his  deeper  purposes. 
The  measure  of  such  an  occasion  is  in  its  power  to 
break  down  conventionalities,  and  when  he  rehearsed 
his  career  and  declared  his  hopes,  he  was  bearing 


660  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

witness  to  the  genuine  kindliness  with  which  those 
who  knew  him  most  familiarly  regarded  him. 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  said,  u  it  is  not  a  mere  formal  oc 
casion,  but  such  as  forms  really  a  close,  confidential 
circle,  where  things  said  are  said  to  friends  only,  and 
not  to  the  great  world,  listening  at  the  window.  I 
will  so  speak,  as  a  friend  to  his  friends,  face  to  face. 
The  most  grateful  feature  of  the  occasion  is  its  recog 
nition  of  what  I  feel  to  be  my  best  work.  This  honor 
has  not  come  to  me  too  late;  it  ought  not  to  have 
come  sooner.  It  is  only  in  the  character  of  my  later 
works  that  I  feel  I  have  earned  it.  It  is  thirty  years 
ago  since  I  first  left  home  for  Europe,  and  in  three 
months  I  shall  be  fifty.  This  is  the  turning-point  of 
my  life.  While  the  springs  of  nature,  I  feel,  are  still 
fresh,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  has  not  died  out, 
still  at  this  period  one  can  look  back  and  consider  im 
partially  his  career.  Ten  years  ago  I  saw  that  the 
work  I  had  then  done  had  no  permanent  value,  and 
did  not  express  what  I  felt  were  my  full  powers  as  an 
author.  My  books  of  travel  had  had  a  popularity  that 
deceived  many  of  my  friends,  but  I  knew  that  they 
could  not  hold  an  enduring  position  in  literature.  A 
traveler's  observations  and  descriptions  stand  only  un 
til  some  later  traveler  sees  more  intelligently,  or  dis 
covers  more,  or  describes  more  agreeably.  I  therefore 
resolved  now  to  make  good  my  lost  time,  for  my  trav 
els  had  never  been  a  part  of  the  purpose  of  my  life. 
I  had  undertaken  them  only  to  aid  in  my  education 
in  the  arts,  poetry,  and  the  higher  forms  of  literary 
work.  Now  such  a  decision  to  change  the  character 
of  my  efforts  was  like  changing  front  in  battle,  a  ma- 
no3uvre,  as  you  know,  always  full  of  peril.  In  the 
new  endeavors,  however,  I  have  been  fortunately  kept 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  661 

in  good  heart  and  encouragement.  .  .  .  This  welcome 
of  to-day  here  in  the  scene  of  my  poem,  so  sponta 
neous  and  from  my  old  friends,  has  a  sanctity  to  me 
beyond  any  ordinary  meeting,  and  I  would  be  totally 
unworthy  of  it  if  I  permitted  myself  to  receive  it  in 
any  vain  spirit  of  exultation.  I  cannot  believe  I  have 
done  enough  to  deserve  it,  though  in  a  life  largely  of 
aspiration  and  effort  one  cannot  fairly  estimate  what 
the  degree  of  accomplishment  is ;  but  for  whatever  I 
have  earned  of  your  cordial  greeting,  the  praise  from 
me  must  be  due  to  the  goodness  of  God.  I  will  still 
work ;  I  feel  myself  capable  of  accomplishment  equal 
to  anything  yet  done,  if  my  life  be  spared ;  and  let 
me  promise  to  you  that  from  now  I  will  strive  still  to 
do  a  better,  truer,  and  higher  work." 

It  was  with  real  emotion  that  he  began  these  words, 
and  the  remembrance  of  the  whole  scene  filled  him 
with  tenderness  whenever  he  recurred  to  it.  The 
open  air,  the  sweet  landscape,  the  grasp  of  the  hand, 
all  gave  to  the  occasion  a  poetic  fitness  and  beauty 
which  served  as  a  happy  omen  to  him  in  this  new  day 
of  work  and  aspiration.  A  few  days  after  he  gave  an 
address  before  the  Delta  Kappa  Epsilon  fraternity 
at  the  University  of  Virginia. 

TO   WHITELAW    REID. 

CEDARCROFT,  Monday,  October  12,  1874. 

The  welcome  on  Saturday  was  the  crowning  glory  of  my  life. 
It  was  pure,  beautiful,  perfect.  All  old  friends  and  neighbors, 
hundreds,  came  from  far  and  near,  the  pavilion  was  splendid 
with  flowers  and  autumn  leaves,  passages  from  my  poems  were 
framed  in  ivy,  and  the  German  and  American  flags  were  inter 
twined.  The  speeches,  songs,  and  poems  quite  overwhelmed  me. 
It  seemed  that  all  I  once  thought  best  and  supposed  to  be  for 
gotten  was  revived  ;  that  all  the  recognition  I  craved  in  vain 
was  poured  upon  me  at  once.  For  three  hours  I  had  to  keep 
myself,  by  desperate  force  of  will,  from  crying  like  a  baby. 


662  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

You  will  see  some  report  of  the  welcome  in  the  Wilmington 
"  Commercial."  I  asked  to  have  a  copy  sent  to  you  personally, 
because  during  the  past  two  years  you  have  done  more  than  any 
other  friend  to  bring  about  this  happy  reaction.  Therefore  take 
your  full  share  of  what  I  say  in  the  poem  I  inclose.  I  should 
like  to  have  it  in  the  "  Tribune,"  because  it  will  thus  be  read 
soonest  and  by  all  who  were  there.  My  own  reply  was  im 
promptu,  broken,  and  insufficient,  but  it  was  impossible,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  do  better.  It  was  hard  enough  to  say  any 
thing. 

TO  JAMES   T.  FIELDS. 
CEDAECROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  October  17,  1874. 

Your  MS.  in  the  envelope  was  the  most  welcome  I  have  seen 
for  a  long  while.  I  don't  know  how  many  times,  during  my  ab 
sence,  I  have  meant  to  write  to  you.  Over  and  over  again  I  have 
wanted  to  congratulate  you  on  becoming  a  new  force  1  among 
us  ;  to  discuss  common  aims  and  common  interests  ;  to  keep 
fresh  the  intercourse  of  old  days  ;  to  thank  you  for  constant  en 
couragement,  and  ask  your  pardon  for  impatience  with  a  literary 
judgment  which,  I  now  see,  was  generally  in  the  right  ;  in  short, 
though  driven  to  silence  by  the  pressure  of  hard  and  earnest 
work,  I  have  felt  a  constant  longing  to  talk  with,  and  confer 
with,  and  cheer  (if  I  could)  and  be  cheered  by  you  (a  cer 
tainty)  ! 

The  other  day  in  Boston  I  meant  surely  to  see  you.  But  after 
I  had  talked  business  with  Osgood,  and  waited  for  Howells,  — 
who  did  n't  come  after  all,  —  it  was  time  to  rush  away  to  Prov 
idence  for  my  lecture  there.  I  'm  down  for  a  lecture  in  Boston. 
January  llth,  my  fiftieth  birthday,  which  I  ought  to  have  at 
home,  but  the  crowd  of  engagements  does  n't  leave  me  even  that. 
I  'm  afraid  you  will  not  be  there  either,  for  I  hear  of  your  many 
engagements  all  over  the  country.  But  let  us  try  to  meet  as 
soon  as  we  may.  No  new  friends  wear  like  the  old,  and  you  are 
the  first,  outside  of  my  home,  who  is  still  in  the  world. 

It  is  a  spite  of  fate  that  you  are  to  lecture  in  West  Chester 
on  the  9th  of  November,  when  I  shall  be  in  the  West,  and  M. 
and  L.  already  migrated  from  Cedarcroft  to  New  York.  I  had 
my  time  given  away  before  I  heard  of  your  coming,  or  I  would 
have  kept  a  gap  for  your  sake,  and  each  with  his  audience  of  one 

1  Mr.  Fields,  after  retiring  from  business,  had  devoted  much  time  to  lec 
turing. 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  663 

or  the  complemental  two,  would  not  have  missed  the  multitu 
dinous  listener. 

I  've  just  returned  from  the  University  of  Virginia,  where  the 
young  Southerners  have  given  me  a  fresh  satisfaction  by  taking 
to  their  hearts  the  words  I  was  impelled  to  say  to  them.  To-day 
I  go  to  West  Chester,  and  a  score  of  letters  are  to  be  answered 
before  I  start ;  here  must  be  the  end,  with  most  unsaid. 

Bayard  Taylor  began  his  lecturing  tour  October 
20th,  and  continued  it  with  occasional  intermissions 
until  the  middle  of  April.  His  family  removed  to 
New  York  early  in  November,  and  now  transferred  to 
that  city  their  household  goods,  for  it  was  Bayard 
Taylor's  purpose  to  make  his  permanent  home  there. 
He  left  his  parents  in  occupation  of  Cedarcroft  and 
the  place  continued  to  be  the  family  place,  but  was  110 
longer  kept  up  as  an  establishment  upon  the  old  basis. 
The  lecturing  brought  with  it  its  accustomed  priva 
tions  and  discomforts,  but  he  accepted  these  as  a  nec 
essary  concomitant,  made  as  little  of  them  as  possible, 
and,  in  his  jealousy  at  the  expenditure  of  time  required 
by  the  business,  was  wont  to  turn  to  account  not  only 
the  days  which  he  was  able  to  spend  now  and  then 
with  his  family,  but  the  chance  hours  which  came  as 
he  went  hither  and  thither.  He  took  up  thus  the 
study  of  Greek,  eager  to  repair  the  loss  of  early  years, 
and  also  because  he  had  already  formed  the  plan  of  a 
new  drama  which  was  closely  allied  in  his  mind  with 
Greek  art,  and  the  spirit  of  Greek  culture.  "  The 
Prophet "  had  brought  him  some  pleasant  letters  from 
friends  ;  it  had  received  some  kindly  criticism,  but  it 
was  misinterpreted  in  many  quarters;  the  historical 
movement  with  which  it  was  inwoven  misled  those  who 
looked  no  farther  than  the  outside.  The  author  him 
self  felt  that  it  was  in  some  sense  a  study  for  higher 
dramatic  work. 


664  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   PAUL   H.    HAYNE. 

MANKATO,  MINNESOTA,  November  29,  1874. 

.  .  .  The  critics  are  mistaken  in  supposing  that  my  design  was 
to  represent  a  phase  of  Mormon  history.  The  original  conception 
was  totally  unconnected  with  any  actual  events  ;  the  features 
which  suggest  the  Mormons  were  added  long  afterwards.  ...  It 
is  the  most  steady,  conscientiously  elaborated,  and  uninterruptedly 
carried  out  work  of  my  life.  The  main  lesson  of  the  drama  — 
the  (to  me)  most  tragic  element  in  it  —  has  not  yet  been  per 
ceived  by  any  critic.  The  London  "  Athenaeum  "  alone  has  seen 
that  the  work  may  have  many  interpretations.  I  am  quite  aware 
that  it  is  not  of  the  fashion  of  our  day,  and  I  am  hardly  disap 
pointed  —  certainly  in  no  wise  annoyed  —  that  what  is  best  in  it 
has  been  so  far  ignored.  I  wrote  it  for  myself,  first  of  all,  and 
without  the  least  reference  to  its  possible  acceptation  by  others. 
Still,  I  consider  that  the  "  Masque  of  the  Gods  "  is  on  a  much 
higher  plane.  But  if  I  live,  I  have  more  and  better  work  to  do. 
"  The  Prophet  "  now  belongs  to  my  past,  and  will  not  trouble  my 
thoughts  any  more.  I  have  no  time  to  look  back  on  completed 
work  while  so  much  is  waiting  its  final  fashion  in  my  mind. 

Later  in  the  season  the  persistent  misunderstanding 
of  "  The  Prophet "  drew  from  him  a  more  public  de 
fense  of  his  motive,  which  he  addressed  to  a  German 
paper,  very  likely  because  however  he  might  hope  to 
receive  from  his  own  countrymen,  in  the  wide  range  of 
critical  judgment,  an  average  recognition,  he  was  un 
willing  that  his  German  friends,  dependent  on  fewer 
means  of  information,  should  be  led  into  a  false  con 
ception  of  his  poetic  work. 

NEW  YORK,  May  3,  1875. 

To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  "  NEW-YORKER  STAATSZEITUNG  : "  — 
Sir,  —  To-day  I  have  read  for  the  first  time  your  review  of  my 
dramatic  poem,  "  The  Prophet,"  which  was  published  some 
weeks  ago  in  the  "  Staatszeitung."  While  I  think  that  an  au 
thor  should  never  reply  to  any  distinctively  literary  criticism,  it 
seems  to  me  time  to  correct  a  misapprehension  of  the  design  of 
my  work  which  reappears  in  every  review  of  it.  I  have  thus 


IN   THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  665 

far  forborne  to  make  any  such  correction,  in  the  fruitless  hope 
that  at  least  one  critic  might  truly  interpret  my  design. 

"  The  Prophet "  does  not  represent  the  early  history  of  the 
Mormons,  and  David  Starr  is  as  far  as  possible  from  being  Joe 
Smith.  The  man  who  most  nearly  stands  for  his  prototype  in 
real  life  was  the  Rev.  Edward  Irving,  the  founder  of  a  sect 
which  still  exists  in  Scotland  and  Germany.  Irving  taught  the 
continued  bestowal  of  miraculous  powers  upon  devout  Christians, 
as  they  were  given  by  Paul  to  the  members  of  the  churches  he 
founded.  In  David  Starr's  case  the  unquestioning  acceptance  of 
a  doctrine  which  was  formerly  more  generally  preached  than 
now  —  that  the  Bible  is  not  only  divine,  but  that  every  word  in 
it  was  written  from  the  direct  dictation  of  the  Holy  Spirit  —  is 
the  power  which  impels  him  :  this  is  the  fate  which  makes  the 
tragedy  of  his  life  inevitable.  The  crashing  down  of  a  rock  in 
the  first  act  is  an  incident  related  of  the  so-called  "  Prophet " 
Mathias.  The  emigration  to  the  West  and  the  manner  of 
David's  death  are  the  only  features  that  coincide  with  the  story 
of  the  Mormons.  The  poem,  first  conceived  upwards  of  eight 
years  ago,  was  worked  out  in  my  mind  without  reference  to  that 
or  any  other  sect ;  I  designed  only  to  represent  phases  of  spirit 
ual  development  and  their  external  results,  which  are  hardly 
possible  in  any  other  country  than  ours.  For  the  same  reason 
the  tragic  element  in  the  poem  is  placed  chiefly  in  its  moral  and 
spiritual  aspects,  rather  than  in  the  action.  It  would  simply  be 
an  absurdity  to  attempt  its  representation  upon  ijbe  stage. 

I  do  not  complain  of  the  misconceptions  to  which  I  have  al 
luded.  They  are  such  as  any  author  must  expect  to  encounter 
now  and  then,  even  from  the  most  honest  and  impartial  critics. 
With  regard  to  the  general  charge  that  the  events  suggested  are 
too  recent,  and  the  language  too  realistic,  these  are  faults  which 
will  disappear  in  time,  if  the  poem  has  any  vitality  ;  if  it  should 
have  none,  they  become  of  no  consequence.  I  only  ask  that  the 
reader  may  be  made  acquainted  also  with  the  author's  intention. 
Very  respectfully,  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

Popularity  brings  with  it  burdens  as  well  as  pleas 
ures,  and  Bayard  Taylor  found  himself  at  this  time  so 
far  a  public  character  that  he  was  hard  driven  to  it  to 
secure  the  quiet  and  seclusion  which  he  needed  for  his 


666  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

work.  His  correspondence  became  large;  his  time 
was  broken  in  upon  by  people  who  were  more  con 
cerned  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  or  secure  some  aid, 
than  to  be  of  service  to  the  man  whom  they  took  pos 
session  of.  All  sorts  of  applications  were  made  to 
him,  and  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to  deny  any  one. 
Worthier  claims  also  began  to  be  made  upon  his  ser 
vice. 

TO   HIS    MOTHER. 

NEW  YORK,  February  7,  1875. 

.  .  .  There  was  a  strong  effort  made  by  prominent  men  at 
Washington  (including  two  members  of  the  Cabinet)  to  have  me 
appointed  Minister  to  Russia.  I  did  n't  know  anything  about  it 
until  all  was  over,  but  I  could  not  have  accepted  the  place  in  any 
case.  I  was  told  last  night  that  the  same  friends  are  determined 
that  I  shall  have  an  appointment  two  or  three  years  hence. 

A  stranger,  who  had  read  "  Autumn  Days  in  Wei 
mar,"  was  moved  to  write  Bayard  Taylor  his  concur 
rence  in  the  views  there  expressed  regarding  the  read 
ing  of  blank  verse.  He  sent  him  an  article  in  which 
he  had  taken  the  same  position,  and  drew  from  Bayard 
Taylor  a  letter  in  reply  :  — 

TO  E.   LAKIN  BROWN. 
31  WEST  SIXTY-FIRST  STREET,  NEW  YORK,  March  19,  1875. 

Your  letter  was  mislaid  during  my  absence  from  home,  and 
my  reply  is  thus  greatly  delayed.  I  have  read  with  great  inter 
est  and  satisfaction  the  article  you  forwarded.  You  take  the 
true  ground,  —  the  only  true  ground.  We  have  not,  in  this 
country  (so  far  as  my  experience  goes),  an  actor,  an  elocutionist, 
or  a  public  speaker,  who  reads  English  blank  verse  correctly. 
And  the  method  of  teaching  in  our  schools  is  not  only  false,  but 
barbaric. 

I  may  hereafter  have  more  to  say,  or  to  write,  upon  this 
subject,  for  it  is  by  no  means  unimportant.  The  absence  of  a 
rhythmic  ear  among  us  is  something  astonishing.  I  think  it  ac 
counts  for  much  bad  taste  as  well  as  bad  poetry.  I  have  only 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  667 

time  to  add  that  I  hope  you  will  continue  to  preach  the  doctrine 
whenever  you  have  a  chance,  and  thus  oblige  all  poets,  living  or 
dead. 

After  the  close  of  the  lecture  season,  Bayard  Taylor 
turned  to  work  which  was  pressing  upon  him.  He  pre 
pared  his  later  poems  for  publication  in  a  volume,  as 
well  as  revised  his  "Faust"  for  a  cheaper  edition,  and 
wrote  a  lecture  on  Richter,  to  be  delivered  with  his 
former  ones  at  Cornell.  He  went  to  Ithaca  May  19th 
for  ten  days,  and  in  the  middle  of  June  to  Boston,  to 
write  for  the  "  Tribune  "  an  account  of  the  Bunker 
Hill  Centennial. 

TO   PAUL   H.    HAYNE. 

31  WEST  SIXTY-FIRST  STREET,  June  28,  1875. 

You  must  have  all  possible  charity  for  me.  I  have  been  over 
whelmed  by  a  multitude  of  private  business  matters,  in  addition 
to  the  necessity  of  giving  a  course  of  lectures  at  Cornell  Univer 
sity,  describing  the  Bunker  Hill  Centennial  for  the  "  Tribune," 
and  spending  a  week  at  Cedarcroft,  —  my  place  in  Pennsylvania. 
During  this  same  period,  I  have  revised  my  "  Faust "  for  a 
cheap  popular  edition  in  the  fall,  and  have  collected  the  scattered 
lyrics  of  the  last  thirteen  years  for  a  new  volume.  All  this,  with 
a  new  poem  pressing  powerfully  upon  my  brain,  and  absolutely 
forcing  me  to  give  it  such  fragments  of  days  and  nights  as  I  could 
snatch  from  necessary  duties,  will  account  to  you  (I  trust)  for 
my  few  and  brief  letters.  Your  volume  only  reached  me  a  fort 
night  ago,  since  when  I  have  been  absent  from  the  city.  So  I 
barely  had  time  to  look  through  it,  note  what  was  new  and  what 
known  to  me,  and  get  a  general  impression  of  its  character.  I 
saw,  at  least,  that  your  poems  do  not  lose,  but  gain,  by  being  col 
lected.  The  same  delicately  refined  stamp  is  upon  all,  so  each 
one  throws  side-gleams  upon  its  neighbors.  But  I  mean  to  take 
the  volume  with  me  to  the  Massachusetts  sea-coast,  whither  we 
go  in  two  days,  and  where,  for  the  first  time  in  three  years,  I 
hope  to  have  a  little  rest.  I  don't  believe  you  in  the  South  know 
what  active,  working  lives  we  lead  here.  I  am  sometimes  in 
clined  to  complain,  —  to  long  for  a  quiet  nook  in  the  shores  of 
Cos,  —  but  then  again  it  is  an  advantage  to  have  your  muscle 


668  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

always  in  training,  and  to  feel  that  the  coming  labor  cannot  in 
timidate  you.     Well,  none  of  us  get  just  the  life  we  wish  for  ! 

Bayard  Taylor  spent  the  month  of  July  with  his 
family  at  the  sea-shore  in  Massachusetts,  and  for  once 
gave  himself  up  to  the  luxury  of  idleness.  Only  when 
the  month  was  gone  did  he  redeem  a  promise  which 
he  had  made,  and  send  to  the  "  Tribune  "  the  first  of  a 
series  of  "  Alongshore  Letters,"  which  he  continued  as 
he  went  to  Manchester  to  visit  Mr.  Fields,  and  then  to 
New  Brunswick.  He  returned  to  New-  York  toward 
the  end  of  August,  and  went  to  Cedar  croft,  where  he 
was  busily  engaged  for  three  days  on  his  Ode  for  the 
presentation  by  the  Goethe  Club  of  a  bust  of  Goethe 
to  be  erected  in  Central  Park.  He  finished  it  so  near 
the  occasion,  that  when  he  came  to  recite  it  on  the 
day,  August  28th,  it  was  with  the  glow  of  composition 
still  upon  his  mind.  His  vacation  brought  him  again 
among  valued  friends. 

TO   H.  W.   LONGFELLOW. 

BOSTON,  August  5,  1875. 

...  I  am  full  of  renewed  hope  and  courage  this  evening,  after 
your  cordial  words.  As  you  can  well  understand,  there  are  few  to 
whom  I  could  show  the  poem  ["  Prince  Deukalion  "],  —  few,  per 
haps,  who  would  be  interested  in  the  leading  conception.  I  have 
written,  thus  far,  as  much  from  instinct  as  from  purpose  ;  but  I 
trust  the  former  even  more  than  the  latter,  and  you  have  given 
me  fresh  self-confidence,  —  not,  I  trust,  self-exaltation.  But,  as  I 
tried  to  say,  I  have  never  yet  met  you  without  receiving  some 
clear,  strong,  generous  encouragement,  which  confirmed  me  in 
my  best  poetical  aims.  At  the  best,  we  all  stand  much  alone, 
and  there  is  great  strength  in  one  feeling  the  support  of  another. 

It  was  at  this  time  also  that  he  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  that  fine  spirit,  Sidney  Lanier,  then  struggling, 
as  he  was  always  to  struggle,  with  adversity.  A  word 
of  praise  from  Bayard  Taylor  had  brought  a  grateful 
letter  from  Lanier. 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  669 


TO    SIDNEY   LANIER. 

BOSTON,  August  17,  1875, 

...  I  write  hurriedly,  finding  much  correspondence  awaiting 
me  here,  so  can  only  repeat  how  much  joy  the  evidence  of  a  new, 
true  poet  always  gives  me,  —  such  a  poet  as  I  believe  you  to  be. 
I  am  heartily  glad  to  welcome  you  to  the  fellowship  of  authors, 
so  far  as  I  may  dare  to  represent  it ;  but,  knowing  the  others,  I 
venture  to  speak  in  their  names  also.  When  we  meet,  I  hope  to 
be  able  to  show  you,  more  satisfactorily  than  by  these  written 
words,  the  genuineness  of  the  interest  which  each  author  always 
feels  in  all  others  ;  and  perhaps  I  may  be  also  able  to  extend 
your  own  acquaintance  among  those  whom  you  have  a  right  to 
know.  .  .  . 

TO   GEORGE    H.    YEWELL. 

NEW  YORK,  August  31,  1875. 

Your  letter,  which  reached  me  this  afternoon,  is  at  once  a  de 
light  and  a  reproach.  I  have  not  forgotten  that  you  wrote  to  me 
more  than  a  year  ago,  while  I  was  in  Iceland  ;  and  that  /  have 
not  written  to  you  since.  My  wife  can  testify,  how  often,  during 
the  past  year,  I  have  said  :  "  I  must  write  to  George  Ye  well !  " 
—  and  how  often  she  has  asked  me,  "Have  you  not  written 
yet  ?  "  The  difficulty  with  all  authors  is  that  the  act  of  writing 
is,  in  one  sense,  a  repetition  of  their  particular  form  of  labor. 
Suppose  you  painted  your  correspondence,  —  would  you  not  often 
drop  brush  and  colors,  and  let  the  absent  friend  wait  a  little 
longer  ?  This  is  all  the  explanation  I  can  give  for  my  silence  : 
I  have  been  steadily  at  work,  and  have  passed  through  such 
periods  of  fatigue  that  I  could  only  rest  by  keeping  away  wholly 
from  pen  and  paper. 

I  must  give  you,  first,  our  private  history.  In  ten  days  it  will 
be  a  year  since  we  landed  on  American  soil.  I  found  a  great  de 
mand  for  my  lectures,  —  greater,  in  fact,  than  ever  before  in  my 
experience,  —  and  it  seemed  like  a  special  good  fortune,  in  my 
condition  of  debt  and  suspended  income.  So  I  accepted  all  in 
vitations,  started  on  the  work  in  three  weeks  after  landing,  and 
kept  it  up  until  the  end  of  April,  —  full  six  months,  during  which 
I  lectured  one  hundred  and  thirty  times,  and  traveled  about 
fifteen  thousand  miles.  The  winter  was  the  severest  known  on 
this  continent  since  1741,  so  you  may  judge  what  I  "  underwent 


670  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

and  overcame."  True,  I  cleared  611,000  in  the  half-year,  paid 
$4,000  of  old  debts,  and  made  myself  easy  for  a  year  to  come,  — 
but  it  was  a  task  which  tested  my  physical  power.  I  was  forced 
to  take  a  summer  holiday  by  the  sea,  near  Newport,  after  which 
my  wife  and  I  went  to  New  Brunswick  (the  British  Province)  to 
leave  L.  with  an  old  friend  of  hers,  and  then  returned  to  Cedar- 
croft  for  a  month.  I  have  come  back  to  New  York,  to  deliver 
an  Ode  on  the  126th  birthday  of  Goethe,  —  last  Saturday,  —  and 
am  waiting  here  for  L.'s  return,  to  take  her  with  me  to  Cedar- 
croft.  As  a  matter  of  some  possible  interest,  I  inclose  the  Ode. 
Bryant  gave  the  oration  ;  the  bronze  bust  of  the  poet  is  meant 
for  Central  Park.  I  have  also  a  new  volume  of  poems  ready  for 
publication  ;  I  mean  to  send  you  a  copy,  as  it  includes  the  "  Im- 
plora  Pace  "  which  you  so  thoroughly  understood.  Besides  this 
main  labor,  I  have  done  many  smaller  things  :  an  oration  at  the 
University  of  Virginia,  a  course  of  lectures  at  Cornell,  summer 
letters  for  the  "  Tribune,"  etc.,  and  have  revised  the  translation 
of  "Faust"  for  a  cheap  popular  edition.  The  biography  of 
Goethe  has  not  advanced  much,  of  course  ;  but  I  have  written 
part  of  a  new  and  important  poem  (this  is  all  I  can  say  about 
it !)  and  made  other  plans  of  future  work.  Now,  how  do  you 
suppose  I  could  break  away  from  this  activity  and  go  back  to 
Europe  ?  The  rumor  you  mention  is  not  only  false,  but  absurd  ; 
my  place,  my  work,  my  duty,  are  here  !  I  do  not  expect  to 
leave  America  for  some  years  ;  I  certainly  do  not  want  to  do  so. 
I  was  met,  last  fall,  by  an  appreciation  which  I  had  never  ex 
pected  to  get,  in  this  life  ;  there  is  a  broad  field  waiting  for  earn 
est  workers,  and  I  mean  to  do  my  share.  Although  so  harried 
and  driven  by  necessary  labor,  I  never  was  more  hopeful  and 
confident.  There  is  —  I  tell  you  again,  dear  old  friend  —  a  sure 
reward  for  all  honest  work.  Take  what  cheer  you  can  out  of 
my  experience,  for  you  have  as  much  right  to  your  reward  as  I 
to  mine. 

.  .  .  We  make  our  home  in  New  York  now,  as  I  have  given 
up  Cedarcroft  to  my  sister  and  Swiss  brother-in-law  and  my 
parents.  I  shall  have  to  lecture  for  a  part  of  the  coming  season, 
in  order  to  get  funds  in  advance  ;  but  I  have  also  a  prospect  of 
steady  work  in  New  York,  with  sufficient  margin  for  my  own 
literary  plans.  On  the  whole  I  take  my  life  gratefully  and  joy 
ously  ;  it  might  be  better,  but  it  could  so  easily  be  worse  ! 

I  wish,  more  than  ever,  that  you  had  gone  to  Egypt  with  us,  — 


IN   THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  671 

especially  since  you  don't  go  beyond  Cairo.     I  could  have  lived 
the  first  poetic  experience  over  again,  in  your  company. 

My  faithful  dragoman's  name  is  Achmet-es-Saidi  (pronounce 
like  Italian),  and  you  can  easily  find  him.  Mention  my  name, 
ask  him  to  show  you  my  photograph,  and  you  will  be  all  right 
with  him.  If  you  go  to  the  Hotel  du  Nil,  mention  my  name  to 
Herr  Friedmami,  the  landlord.  Get  Achmet  to  help  you  to  Sa 
racenic  interiors.  Take  a  run  up  the  Nile,  by  rail,  as  far  as  Siout, 
and  —  if  you  possibly  can  —  go  to  Medeenet-el-Fyoom,  where  you 
will  find  unpaiuted  pictures,  purely  Oriental. 

I  'm  heartily  glad  that  you  will  be  so  well  represented  at  the 
Centennial.  Why  should  n't  you  come  "over  to  it  ?  Our  country 
is  still  worth  something,  in  spite  of  all  you  may  hear  against  it ; 
and  I  can't  reconcile  myself  to  seeing  so  many  good  artists  ex 
patriating  themselves.  But  it 's  at  least  pleasant  to  find  that 
you  are  comfortable  and  secure  of  the  near  future. 

...  By  the  way,  the  article  in  "  Frazer's  Magazine "  was  not 
mine,  some  scamp,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  took  my  name  !  I  'm 
relieved  to  hear  that  the  article  is  good,  for  I  have  never  read  it. 
My  friends  here  say,  "  It  is  just  your  style!"  —  and  I  shrink 
from  acquaintance  with  a  style  which  might  not  impress  me 
favorably  !  Would  you  like  to  see  a  man  whom  your  friends 
pronounced  to  be  your  second  self  ?  I  think  not.  You  would 
certainly  dislike  the  man.  Tell  my  friends,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
that  I  never  wrote,  "  A  Professor  Extraordinary  "  ! ! 

Here  I  sit  late  at  night,  with  a  window  opening  on  Central 
Park,  and  you  are  looking  on  the  dusky  Apennines,  —  it 's  in 
credible  !  If  you  could  bring  the  material  features  of  your  life 
over  here,  without  benumbing  our  fresh  atmosphere  of  deed  and 
aspiration,  how  gladly  would  I  accept  it  !  But  we  can't  have  the 
two  things  together,  so  I  forego  the  delight  of  the  eye,  the  opiate 
of  the  nerves,  the  indolent  delight  in  beauty,  and  take  my  burden 
as  the  Lord  gave  it. 

Give  our  love  to  Mrs.  Gould,  if  she  still  lives  when  this  ar 
rives.  Tell  her,  from  me,  she  must  not  attribute  too  much  weight 
to  anything  I  may  have  said  against  Rome,  when  I  felt  too 
strongly  the  seduction  of  the  grand  old  city,  —  that  I  shall  jjever 
find  fault  with  a  free  Rome,  such  as  may  spring  partly  from  the 
seed  she  has  sown.  I  am  only  jealous  of  that  mighty  Past  which 
in  Rome  wiles  so  many  of  us  to  forget  that  we  are  of  this  age 
and  must  do  its  work.  But  she  has  never  forgotten. 
VOL.  n.  17 


672  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  have  written  deep  into  the  night,  yet  have  said  little.  Do 
write  again  before  you  leave  for  Egypt,  and  I  will  answer  at 
once.  My  wife  is  not  here,  but  I  know  how  rejoiced  she  will  be 
to  hear  from  you  again,  and  I  send  her  love  with  mine. 

TO   SIDNEY  LANIER. 

Thursday  afternoon,  September  2,  1875. 

...  I  can't  tell  you  how  rejoiced  I  am  to  find  in  you  the  gen 
uine  poetic  nature,  temperament,  and  morale.  These  are  the 
necessary  conditions  of  success  (not  in  the  lower  popular  mean 
ing  of  the  word),  —  of  the  possibility  of  slowly  approaching 
one's  ideal,  for  we  never  can,  or  ought  to,  reach  it.  All  I  can 
say  is,  "  Be  of  good  cheer  ! "  .  .  . 

The  form  of  the  Ode  agreed  so  well  with  the  charac 
ter  of  Bayard  Taylor's  genius,  and  found  now,  espe 
cially,  so  close  an  alliance  with  his  poetic  designs,  that 
his  friends  were  quick  to  recognize  the  singular  value 
of  his  work  in  this  direction.  His  comrades  were  the 
first  to  note  this,  and  sent  him  the  cheer  which  fortified 
him  in  his  purpose. 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

CEDARCROFT,  September  9,  1875. 

Yours  of  the  4th,  after  wandering  from  Mattapoisett  to  Bos 
ton,  reached  me  yesterday.  You  forgot  that  we  left  the  for 
mer  place  more  than  a  month  ago.  I  was  in  New  York  all  last 
week,  but  was  told  at  the  Century  that  you  would  not  arrive  un 
til  Saturday,  so  did  not  call  at  Lafayette  Place.  However,  we 
shall  be  back  again  in  ten  or  twelve  days. 

Your  impressions  of  the  Ode  give  me  great  and  lasting  com 
fort.  You  can  easily  guess  the  difficulties  of  the  themes.  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  attempt  the  work  until  five  or  six  days 
before  the  anniversary,  and  then  went  at  it  with  such  desperate 
resolution  that  I  wrote  it,  as  it  now  is,  in  two  days.  I  recited, 
or  lather  yelled,  it,  to  a  restless,  noisy  audience  of  twelve  thou 
sand  persons,  and  left  with  dark  misgivings  of  failure. 

Even  now  it  falls  short  of  my  desire  and  intention  ;  but  I  am 
profoundly  glad  that  something  thereof  has  made  itself  manifest 
in  the  strophes,  and  is  accepted  by  you  and  other  nearest-stand- 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  673 

ing  friends  and  poets.  I  hope  to  do  better  things  in  the  future, 
and  your  generous  words  are  to  me  as  a  strong  additional  plank 
thrust  under  that  hope.  I  am  too  old  to  be  injured  by  warm, 
hearty  recognition,  and  yet  as  full  of  fresh  aspiration  as  ever  in 
my  youth.  But  we  '11  talk  of  these  things  when  we  meet. 
There  are  many  years  of  good  work,  I  trust,  awaiting  both  of  us. 
I  have  had  many  echoes  from  the  Ode  already,  but  not  one  with 
as  clear  and  certain  a  tone  as  yours. 

"  Home  Pastorals,  Ballads,  and  Lyrics  "  was  pub 
lished  by  J.  R.  Osgood  &  Co .  in  October.  In  the 
same  season  appeared  also  a  new  and  revised  edition 
of  "  Faust"  in  a  style  uniform  with  "Home  Pastorals," 
and  thus  more  within  the  reach  of  the  general  public 
than  it  could  be  in  the  large  octavo  form.  Bayard 
Taylor  at  this  time  had  established  himself  in  New 
York  in  quarters  which  he  retained  until  he  finally  left 
America.  The  book  received  at  once  a  cordial  wel 
come  from  those  whose  welcome  was  most  grateful. 
Dr.  Holmes  wrote,  "A  thousand  thanks  for  the  new 
volume  which  I  received  yesterday.  How  often  does  it 
happen  to  you  to  have  read  a  gift  book  through  before 
you  write  to  thank  the  giver  ?  It  does  not  happen  to 
me  very  often,  but  this  time  I  have  read  every  word, 
and  enjoyed  myself  very  much  in  doing  it.  ...  I 
have  not  decided  which  of  the  poems  I  like  best,  but  I 
tell  you  some  of  the  passages  which  most  struck  me ; 
the  mullein  passage :l —  'Yet,  were  it  not,'  to  the  end 
of  the  page. 

Better  it  were  to  sleep  with  the  owl,  to  house  with  the  hornet. 
Truth  as  it  shines  in  the  sky,  not  truth  as  it  smokes  in  their 
lantern. 

These  two  lines  ought  to  '  stick,'  as  C.  S.  had  it. 

1  Yet,  were  it  not  for  the  poets,  say,  is  the  asphodel  fairer  ? 
Were  not  the  mullein  as  dear,  had  Theocritus  sung  it,  or  Bion  ? 
Yea,  but  they  did  not ;  and  we,  whose  fancy's  tenderest  tendrils 
Shoot  unsupported,  and  wither,  for  want  of  a  Past  we  can  cling  to, 


674  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

"  I  like  the  whole  of  the  '  Old  Pennsylvania  Farmer,' 
but  one  line  of  it  went  to  my  heart,  — 

I  'd  rather  use  my  legs  and  hands  than  plague  my  brain  with 
thought ; 

and  the  next  poem,  '  Napoleon  at  Gotha,'  gave  me  a 
sensation.  '  Penn  Calvin '  I  had  read  before,  and  was 
very  glad  to  read  it  again.  It  is  full  of  meaning. 
Perhaps  nothing  in  the  volume  is  better  than  the  way 
in  which  you  revive  Shakespeare's  characters  as  they 
show  themselves  in  Broadway  and  Central  Park.  I 
must  mention  one  more  passage.  It  is  the  last  part 
of  Section  III.  of  the  Goethe  Ode,  beginning  as  far 
back  as  '  What  courtier,'  etc.2 

"  I  have  read  no  poetry,  or  almost  none,  of  late  until 
your  book,  and  I  have  to  thank  you  not  only  for  your 
kindness  in  sending  me  the  volume,  but  for  the  great 
pleasure  I  have  had  in  reading  it." 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW  TO  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

CAMBRIDGE,  November  12,  1875. 

There  should  be  twelve  of  them  instead  of  three, — these 
beautiful  "  Home  Pastorals  "  !  That  is  what  I  am  saying  to 
myself  just  after  reading  them  this  bright,  poetic  morning. 

We,  so  starved  in  the  Present,  so  weary  of  singing  the  Future, — 
What  is  't  to  us,  if,  haply,  a  score  of  centuries  later, 
Milk-weed  inspires  Patagonian  tourists,  and  mulleins  are  classic  ? 
2  What  courtier,  stuffed  with  smooth,  accepted  lore 

Of  Song's  patrician  line, 

But  shrugged  his  velvet  shoulders  all  the  more 
And  heard,  with  bland  indulgent  face, 

As  who  bestows  a  grace, 
The  homely  phrase  that  Shakespeare  made  divine  ? 

So,  now,  the  dainty  souls  that  crave 
Light  stepping-stones  across  a  shallow  wave, 
Shrink  from  the  deeps  of  Goethe's  soundless  song! 
So,  now,  the  weak,  imperfect  fire 
That  knows  but  half  of  passion  and  desire 
Betrays  itself,  to  do  the  Master  wrong ;  — 
Turns,  dazzled  by  his  white  uncolored  glow, 
And  deems  his  sevenfold  heat  the  wintry  flash  of  snow ! 


IN   THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  675 

From  time  to  time,  as  the  season  and  the  spirit  move  you,  I 
hope  and  believe  you  will  fill  up  this  admirable  framework,  and 
give  every  month  its  own  :  — 

December,  with  its  Christmas,  and  reminiscences  of  Pal 
estine  ; 

January,  with  its  snows,  changing  your  hills  into  spurs  of  the 
Himalayas  ; 

February,  with  its  seclusion  and  books,  a  fruitful  theme. 

And  so  on,  till  you  have  run  through  the  whole  round  of  the 
months.  The  three  already  written  are  so  good,  and  the  verse 
so  sonorous  and  musical,  that  I  long  for  more.  The  rest  of  the 
volume  I  have  not  yet  finished.  I  read  slowly.  I  was  much 
pleased  with  Mr.  Lanier. 

BAYARD   TAYLOR   TO   H.   W.   LONGFELLOW. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 
NEW  YORK,  November  14,  1875. 

Again  your  voice  of  cheer  !  And  how  welcome  it  is  after  the 
stupidities  of  several  so-called  reviews  which  I  have  just  been 
reading  !  Two  of  them  assert  that  my  "  Pastorals  "  resemble 
"  Locksley  Hall,"  and  a  third  says  they  suggest  Tupper  ! ! 
Really,  unless  one  poet  helps  another  in  this  country,  where 
shall  we  get  encouragement  ? 

Last  night  at  the  Century  Club,  a  man  whose  poetic  instinct  is 
marvelous  for  one  not  a  poet  said  to  me,  "  You  should  go  on 
and  write  more  of  the  *  Pastorals,'  filling  out  the  design  already 
indicated,  by  other  pictures  of  life  and  nature."  Here  was  your 
thought  again,  and,  to  be  frank,  my  own  secret  hope,  waiting  to 
be  justified  by  the  verdict  of  a  friend.  I  only  ask  for  two  or 
three  to  give  some  recognition  of  the  character  and  aim  of  my 
poetic  work.  I  shall  go  on,  as  leisure  and  inspiration  allow, 
but  I  probably  should  not  do  so  if  no  one  had  spoken  the  right 
words. 

You  can  imagine  the  interest  with  which  I  have  read  your 
"  Pandora."  The  choruses  are  as  fine  as  anything  you  have  ever 
done,  and  I  read  them  three  times  before  laying  down  the  book. 
Their  rhythmical  character  is  another  point  of  resemblance  to 
my  drama,  and  I  anticipate  the  charge  of  imitation  from  the 
same  refined  and  intelligent  reviewers  when  I  come  to  publish. 
However,  I  shall  not  let  that  trouble  me  since  you  know  the 
truth. 


676  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

I  am  very  glad  you  like  Laiiier.  He  seems  to  me  a  genuine 
poetic  nature.  I  should  not  otherwise  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
giving  him  a  letter  to  you,  knowing  how  much  of  your  time  is 
claimed  by  strangers. 

TO   J.    B.    PHILLIPS. 

NEW  YORK,  November  26,  1875. 

I  'm  glad  you  're  occupying  yourself  again  with  poetry  ;  there 's 
no  intellectual  delight  equal  to  it.  ...  I  have  been  exceedingly 
busy  of  late,  M.  having  been  quite  ill,  and  much  accumulated 
work  on  my  hands.  I  have  to  do  a  great  amount  of  needless  cor 
respondence,  absurd  applications,  answers  to  questions,  and  the 
Lord  knows  what  all.  Then  I  am  personally  assailed  to  make 
speeches,  write  occasional  poems,  etc.,  all  which  I  refuse,  but  the 
visits  and  the  explanations  take  time. 

There  were  some  requests,  however,  which  he  could 
not  lightly  refuse.  The  United  States  Centennial 
Commission  was  in  full  blast,  arranging  for  the  great 
exhibition  and  celebration  at  Philadelphia  the  coming 
summer.  General  Hawley,  the  President  of  the  Com 
mission,  gave  Bayard  Taylor  the  choice  of  writing  the 
Hymn  or  the  Cantata,  or  both,  for  the  opening  day  of 
the  festival,  and  when  he  chose  the  Hymn,  begged  him 
to  name  some  one  to  write  the  Cantata.  Mr.  Lanier's 
musical  education  and  his  great  enthusiasm  for  poetry 
in  its  large  forms  at  once  marked  him  in  Bayard  Tay 
lor's  mind  as  the  right  person,  and  he  advised  General 
Hawley  to  apply  to  him. 

TO   SIDNEY  LANIER. 

NEW  YORK,  December  28,  1875. 

I  write  in  a  hurry,  —  but  have  something  to  say.  General 
Hawley,  President  of  the  United  States  Centennial  Commission, 
has  invited  me  to  write  a  hymn  for  the  grand  opening  ceremo 
nies.  There  is  to  be  also  an  original  cantata,  the  text  of  which 
was  to  be  asked  of  Stedman  ;  but  he  is  gone  to  Panama,  and 
neither  Theodore  Thomas  nor  Dudley  Buck  (the  composer)  will 
wait  his  return.  General  Hawley  asked  me  to  name  a  poet  not 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  677 

of  New  England,  so  I  suggested  a  Southern  poet  for  the  cantata. 
I  feel  quite  sure  you  will  be  the  choice. 

I  write  in  all  haste  to  say,  you  must  accept,  if  it  is  offered. 
The  cantata  should  not  be  more  than  from  forty  to  fifty  lines 
long,  of  unity  of  conception,  yet  capable  of  being  divided  easily 
into  three  parts,  —  an  opening  chorus,  a  bass  solo,  and  a  finale, 
either  general  or  alternating  chorus.  The  measure  ought  to  be 
irregular,  yet  sufficiently  rhythmical.  My  additional  suggestion 
is,  —  and  I  think  you  '11  pardon  it,  —  to  make  the  lines  simple 
and  strong,  keep  down  the  play  of  fancy  (except  where  it  may 
give  room  for  a  fine  musical  phrase),  and  aim  at  expressing  the 
general  feeling  of  the  nation  rather  than  individual  ideas,  though 
the  latter  might  be  much  finer. 

I  have  just  had  a  visit  from  Theodore  Thomas  and  Mr.  Buck, 
and  we  talked  the  whole  matter  over.  Thomas  remembers  you 
well,  and  Mr.  Buck  says  it  would  be  specially  agreeable  to  him 
to  compose  for  the  words  of  a  Southern  poet.  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  of  speaking  for  you,  both  to  them  and  to  General  Haw- 
ley,  and  you  must  not  fail  me.  .  .  . 

Now,  my  dear  Lanier,  I  am  sure  you  can  do  this  worthily. 
It 's  a  great  occasion,  —  not  especially  for  poetry  as  an  art,  but 
for  poetry  to  assert  herself  as  a  power.  I  must  close,  being  very 
busy.  Tin's  is  to  prepare  you  a  little,  and  set  your  thoughts  as 
soon  as  possible  in  the  direction  of  the  task.  .  .  . 

SIDNEY  LANIER   TO   BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

BALTIMORE,  December  29,  1875. 

If  it  were  a  cantata  upon  your  goodness,  I  'm  willing  to  wager 
I  could  write  a  stirring  one  and  a  grateful  withal.  Of  course  I 
will  accept,  —  when  't  is  offered.  I  only  write  a  hasty  line  now 
to  say  how  deeply  I  am  touched  by  the  friendly  forethought  of 
your  letter. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  TO   SIDNEY  LANIER. 

NEW  YORK,  January  7,  1876. 

...  I  am  very  glad  you  accept  so  heartily.  .  .  .  "Occa 
sional  "  poetical  work  should  always  be  brief,  appropriate  in 
idea,  and  technically  good.  One  dare  not  be  imaginative  or  par 
ticularly  original.  .  .  .  Don't  overvalue  my  friendly  good-will, 
iior  ever  let  it  impose  the  least  sense  of  obligation  upon  you.  I 


678  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

am  very  glad  when  I  can  give  some  encouragement  to  a  man  in 
whom  I  have  faith. 

Then  followed  an  interesting  correspondence  be 
tween  the  two  poets  in  which  Mr.  Lanier's  frequent 
drafts  of  the  cantata  were  subjected  to  searching  crit 
icism,  branching  out  into  discussions  of  poetic  form. 
Bayard  Taylor  was  compelled,  however,  to  write  al 
ways  on  the  wing,  for  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his  lec 
turing  until  the  beginning  of  March,  when  he  brought 
his  tours  to  an  end.  He  had  for  some  time  been  con 
sidering  the  expediency  of  giving  up  this  nomadic  life, 
and  finding  his  means  of  support  in  a  less  remunera 
tive,  but  also  less  irregular  way.  The  wear  and  tear 
of  constant  traveling  was  enormous.  Better  the  con 
finement  of  a  desk  with  all  its  drudgery  and  its  tyr 
anny  of  hours.  He  had  already  accepted  from  Messrs. 
Appleton  the  task  of  overseeing  the  editorial  work 
upon  "  Picturesque  Europe,"  and  he  now  made  an 
engagement  with  the  "  Tribune,"  by  which  he  was  to 
take  a  desk  in  the  office  and  give  his  principal  work 
ing  hours  to  work  upon  the  paper.  The  wide  expe 
rience  of  the  world  which  he  had  enjoyed  gave  him 
special  qualifications  for  commenting  upon  current 
affairs  in  Europe ;  his  convictions  in  literature  stood 
him  in  good  stead  when  called  upon  to  give  quick 
criticism  of  new  books ;  his  facility  in  reporting  im 
pressions  enabled  him  to  give  independent  descrip 
tions  of  interesting  occasions  in  the  city. 

It  was  no  light  thing  for  Bayard  Taylor  to  return 
thus  to  the  bondage  of  journalism.  However  lightly 
the  yoke  might  be  laid  upon  his  shoulders,  it  could 
not  help  galling  him.  But  he  accepted  the  situation 
and  made  himself  master  of  it.  He  had  work  yet  to 
do.  He  had  his  life  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  to  write ; 


IN  THE  HARNESS  AGAIN.  679 

"  Prince  Deukalion,"  partly  written,  was  in  his  desk ; 
poems  came,  he  had  no  thought  of  a  day  when  they 
would  not  come.  All  these  things,  which  made  his  life 
a  joy,  must  wait  upon  that  inexorable  demand  which 
was  laid  upon  him  to  earn  his  living,  and  having  once 
decided  upon  this  course,  he  did  not  shrink  from  what 
it  involved.  He  made  the  cause  of  the  "Tribune" 
his  cause,  and  wrote  editorials,  criticisms,  reports,  as 
if  there  were  nothing  else  so  well  worth  doing. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  NATIONAL   ODE. 

1876-1877. 

Ah,  hark  !  the  solemn  undertone, 
On  every  wind  of  human  story  blown. 

The  National  Ode. 

THE  hymn  which  Bayard  Taylor  had  written  was 
to  be  sung  at  the  opening  of  the  Philadelphia  Exhibi 
tion,  but  the  great  day  of  the  feast  was  to  be  the 
Fourth  of  July,  when  the  centennial  of  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence  was  to  be  celebrated.  The  cele 
bration  centred  about  an  oration  to  be  given  by  Hon. 
William  M.  Evarts  and  an  ode.  The  Centennial 
Commission  had  applied  in  turn  to  Mr.  Longfellow, 
Mr.  Lowell,  Dr.  Holmes.  Each  had  declined.  Early 
in  March  General  Hawley  wrote  to  Bayard  Taylor : 
"I  have  written  to  Mr.  Bryant.  I  presume  he  will 
decline.  You  were  so  kind  and  patriotic  as  to  say 
that  in  that  case  you  would  undertake  the  work.  .  .  . 
Time  is  passing.  If  I  telegraph  you  to-morrow  morn 
ing  that  Mr.  Bryant  declines,  I  shall  at  the  same  time 
write  you  a  formal  invitation  to  take  the  place." 

The  next  day  the  dispatch  came  advising  Bayard 
Taylor  that  Mr.  Bryant  had  declined.  He  sent  his 
own  acceptance  and  withdrew  his  hymn.  He  did  not 
covet  the  place.  Neither  was  he  moved  by  any  shal 
low  pride  to  refuse  because  he  was  not  first  asked. 
He  was  overburdened  with  routine  work ;  he  lacked 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  681 

the  spring  of  vitality  which  had  once  been  his,  but  he 
was  unwilling  that  so  important  an  office  should  go 
begging.  He  had  an  honest  pride  which  would  not 
suffer  his  country  to  be  weakly  represented.  Mr. 
Lanier  had  written  a  long  analysis  and  criticism  of 
his  hymn.  In  replying  to  it,  he  told  him  of  his  new 
task. 

TO   SIDNEY  LANIER. 

NEW  YORK,  March  17, 1876. 

...  I  don't  entirely  agree  with  you  in  regard  to  a  rigid  archi 
tectural  structure  for  the  hymn  :  a  strict  appropriation  of  three 
stanzas  to  the  three  manifestations  of  the  Deity,  with  a  union  of 
all  at  the  beginning  and  end,  would  give  a  too-conscious  air  of 
design.  Here,  again,  is  an  instance  where  you  cannot  apply  the 
laws  of  Music  to  Poetry.  The  hymn  is  to  be  sung  by  many,  not 
divided  into  parts,  and  its  fitness  depends  on  the  whole  expres 
sion  much  more  than  upon  a  finished  artistic  form. 

However,  my  part  has  been  changed  within  two  days,  and  the 
hymn  will  not  be  sung  at  all.  I  have  been  asked  to  write  the 
Ode  for  the  grand  national  celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July, 
and  have  accepted.  Bryant,  Longfellow,  and  Lowell  declined, 
and  Whittier  and  Holmes  urged  my  appointment.  I  dare  not 
decline  ;  yet  I  feel  the  weight  of  the  task,  and  shall  both  work 
and  pray  ardently  for  success.  Of  course  I  have  withdrawn  the 
hymn,  as  it  would  be  manifestly  improper  for  me  to  do  both. 
Some  one  else  will  be  appointed  immediately.  Please  don't  men 
tion  this  matter  for  four  or  five  days  yet,  by  which  time  it  will 
be  officially  announced.  I  shall  miss  your  poetic  companionship, 
for  which  the  oration  will  not  compensate  me  ;  but  you  will  read 
ily  see  that  I  cannot  do  otherwise. 

NEW  YORK,  March  23,  1876. 

.  .  .  The  announcement  of  my  Ode  was  made  yesterday,  and 
I  inclose  you  what  Bryant  says  about  it.  I  '11  add  (in  confidence, 
as  yet)  that  Whittier  will  probably  write  the  hymn  in  my  stead. 
I  had  a  letter  from  him  this  morning,  and  he  does  n't  decline,  at 
least.  I  am  just  now  a  good  deal  busier  than  usual,  for  my 
Tribune  work  takes  more  time  at  first,  I  having  been  out  of 
harness  so  long.  Then  there  have  been  a  great  many  delayed 


682  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

(almost  protested)  social  debts  to  be  paid,  which  are  more  or  less 
fatiguing,  however  pleasant.  Pray  be  charitable  to  my  enforced 
brevity  this  morning. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  March  26,  1876. 

After  all,  I  can't  reply  at  length,  even  to-night,  to  your  penul 
timate  letter.  You  are  quite  right  in  your  application  of  your 
scheme  of  song  to  many  of  my  poems  :  I  am  well  aware  of  the 
deficiencies  of  my  early  work.  Nor  do  I  disagree  with  you  at 
all  in  regard  to  the  necessity  of  strictly-proportioned  form  ;  only 
there  is  no  single  schema  for  all  themas,  and  my  nature  bids  me 
elaborate  and  round  a  poetical  conception  in  my  brain  before  I 
write,  letting  it  find  its  own  manner  and  form.  Poetic  ideas 
have  a  willful  being  of  their  own,  and  there  are  cases  where  they 
are  best  expressed  through  an  apparent  disregard  of  form.  Of 
course  I  don't  refer  here  to  my  hymn,  or  to  anything  of  my  own. 

While  keenly  feeling,  and  trying  more  and  more  to  apprehend 
the  beauty  of  perfect  form  in  verse,  some  instinct  in  me  shrinks 
from  too  rigidly  defining  it.  Is  this  comprehensible  to  you  ? 

The  response  to  the  announcement  of  my  new  appointment 
has  been  far  more  cordial  than  I  dared  to  hope  for.  Bryant's 
generous  notice  struck  the  keynote  which  a  great  many  papers 
have  echoed.  But  all  the  greater  is  the  cloud  of  responsibility 
hanging  over  me.  I  feel  as  if  my  nerves  and  muscles  were 
slowly  setting  for  a  desperate  deed,  as  in  one  chosen  to  lead  a 
forlorn  hope.  But  I  can  only  give  what  is  in  me,  and  if  my  pos 
sible  best  (under  the  depressing  circumstances)  is  counted  fail 
ure,  I  hope  some  little  courage  of  nature  will  not  be  denied  me. 

I  have  seen  no  single  notice  of  your  part  in  the  opening  solem 
nities  that  was  not  friendly.  Since  it  is  almost  certain  that 
Whittier  will  write  the  hymn,  the  appropriateness  of  the  two 
selections  is  admitted  by  everybody.  You  can  now  easily  make 
yourself  (as  you  are)  the  representative  of  the  South  in  Amer 
ican  song. 

I  am  now  doing,  and  shall  probably  continue  to  do,  regular 
daily  work  on  the  "  Tribune."  It 's  a  little  hard  at  first,  after 
twenty  years'  holiday  from  such  labor,  but  I  'm  slowly  working 
into  it.  I  must  give  up  much  of  my  lecturing,  or  I  shall  never 
get  on  with  my  life  of  Goethe  ;  and  six  hours  a  day  given  to  pot- 
boiling  leaves  me  at  least  three  for  my  own  dear,  unpaying  work. 

Bryant  probably  declined  on  account  of  his  age,  —  eighty-two; 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  '  683 

Longfellow  from  his  neuralgia  in  the  head  ;  Lowell  urged  illness 
as  his  excuse  .  .  .  Whittier  and  Holmes  both  urged  my  appoint 
ment,  and  so  —  here  I  am  !  Some  day,  I  hope,  the  circum 
stances  will  be  known,  and  I  shall  get  at  least  a  little  credit  for 
patriotic  willingness  to  step  in  and  fill  up  the  breach  at  the  elev 
enth  hour.  .  .  . 

TO  PAUL  H.   HAYNE. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YOKK,  April  3,  1876. 

Pardon  me  for  having  delayed  answering  your  letter  for  five 
days  since  it  came.  But  I  have  been  absolutely  overwhelmed 
with  business  of  all  kinds,  and  such  an  unusual  number  of  letters 
demanding  immediate  answers,  that  I  have  been  almost  "dis 
tracted.  I  must  even  reply  hurriedly  now,  for  it  is  late  at  night, 
and  I  am,  to  use  a  German  phrase,  "  dog-tired." 

Your  letter  to  the  "  Star  "  is  exceedingly  kind  and  generous, 
and  I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  it.  By  a  singular  coincidence, 
Bryant  said  almost  the  same  thing,  but  briefly,  in  noticing  my 
appointment  as  Centennial  Poet  ;  and  the  opinion  has  been 
echoed  in  many  papers  all  over  the  country.  I  only  accepted  the 
ode  after  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Lowell,  and  Whittier  declined  ; 
but  this  fact  has  not  saved  me  from  some  ill-natured  comments, 
and  will  not  save  my  work  from  abuse  and  attack.  However, 
the  announcement  has  been  received  far  more  favorably  than  I 
dared  to  hope,  and  I  shall  both  labor  and  pray  to  be  successful. 

.  .  .  My  head  is  full  of  floating  ideas  for  the  ode,  and  I  have 
been  so  constantly  interrupted  of  late  that  the  quiet  wherein  such 
ideas  take  coherent  and  harmonious  form  seems  to  be  totally  de 
nied  to  me.  The  conception,  as  a  whole,  will  probably  fall  upon 
me  suddenly,  and  then  I  must  lay  everything  else  aside  until  it 
is  embodied  in  verse. 

Before  the  ode  had  been  written,  Bayard  Taylor 
was  required  to  go  to  Philadelphia  to  describe  for  the 
"  Tribune  "  the  exercises  attending  the  opening  of  the 
exhibition.  He  went  thence  to  Cedarcroft,  to  secure 
the  freedom  from  interruption  which  he  needed  for  his 
great  task.  There  he  threw  himself  into  the  compo 
sition,  and  in  a  couple  of  days  returned  to  New  York 
with  the  first  rapid  draft  of  the  ode. 


684  EAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   JOHN   B.    PHILLIPS. 

NEW  YORK,  May  18,  1876. 

I  have  delayed  writing  until  I  could  send  you  my  volume.  .  .  . 
Besides,  I  have  had  to  go  to  Philadelphia  to  write  unusually 
much  for  the  "  Tribune,"  to  work  on  my  ode,  to  answer  an  im 
mense  rush  of  letters  and  applications,  — -  in  short,  I  have  been 
hunted  like  a  wild  stag. 

...  I  meant  to  have  written  to  you  during  the  winter,  but 
when  my  own  beloved  poetical  work  must  stand  aside,  my 
friends  may  well  bear  with  me.  You  can  have  no  idea  of  the 
thousand  really  unnecessary  claims  which  the  unthinking  public 
makes  upon  an  author.  Since  March  8th  I  have  been  doing 
daily  editorial  work  on  the  "  Tribune  "  in  order  to  live,  for  I 
cannot  stand  so  much  lecturing.  It  is  something  of  a  pull  upon 
me,  but  the  best  thing  I  can  do  under  present  circumstances. 

Marvelous  to  say,  my  ode  is  finished.  Bryant  has  read  it  over 
with  me,  and  both  Stedman  and  Stoddard  indorse  it,  but  some 
how  I  don't  feel  very  confident.  The  task  is  one  to  wreck  brain 
and  heart,  and  I  foresee  a  great  deal  of  spiteful  abuse.  I  have 
always  gone  straight  forward  in  rny  own  way,  catering  to  no 
body's  prejudices,  and  such  a  policy  is  always  resented  in  this 
country.  It  does  n't  worry  me  now  ;  if  I  live  ten  years  longer,  I 
shall  see  the  end  of  it. 

I  have  been  working  for  the  last  fifteen  months  at  intervals  on 
another  poem,  which  will  be  the  work  of  my  life.  It  is  a  little 
more  than  half  written,  but  must  now  wait.  I  can  hardly  hope 
to  see  the  end  for  another  year.  Meanwhile,  I  can  feel  that  I 
am  slowly  gaining  ground,  and  am  therefore  content.  This  is  an 
egotistical  scrawl,  but  I  am  writing  late  at  night  after  a  hard 
day's  work,  and  can't  stop  to  consider.  It  will  at  least  show 
you  that  I  am  ever  your  friend. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

NEW  YORK,  May  19,  1876. 

...  I  am  immensely  glad  that  my  ode  made  a  good  impres 
sion  on  you  ;  but  somehow  I  can't  feel  much  confidence  about  it. 
I  put  forth  my  best  powers  and  did  what  is  now  possible  to  me; 
nothing,  however,  equals  my  conception  of  what  it  should  be,  and 
I  dare  not  look  for  any  loud  or  general  echo. 

I  shall  make  very  few  alterations  :  further  criticism  begins  to 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  685 

be  confusing,  and  little  change  is  possible  without  change  of 
form,  which  I  shall  not  make. 

As  for  Pantheon,1  I  am  tolerably  satisfied  that  the  word  is 
right  as  it  stands.  The  accent  is  Greek,  navQeov,  the  last  syllable 
from  8e6s,  not  0eos.  Webster  gives  both,  putting  Pantheon  first, 
—  but  damn  Webster,  so  long  as  general  custom  is  based  on  the 
true  Greek  accent.  Even  Byron's  line  can  be  read,  if  you  put 
the  accent  strongly  on  the  on,  as  the  Greeks  did. 

As  for  "  feather-cinctured,"  I  suppose  I  must  change  it,  al 
though,  personally,  I  don't  care  at  all  that  Gray  has  used  the 
compound  adjective  already.  There  is  none  other  so  good  ;  and 
I  'd  as  soon  be  a  thief  of  a  good  word  as  maker  of  a  poor  one.  I 
shall  be  abused,  anyhow,  so  what  boots  one  little  crime  the  more  ? 
If  I  can  find  something  that  will  decently  serve,  I  '11  make  the 
change  ;  if  not  — 

I  '11  omit  Strophe,  etc.,  though  it 's  like  throwing  a  sop  to 
Cerberus. 

NEW  YORK,  May  20,  1876. 

I  have  tired  my  brain  to  no  purpose  about  the  epithet.  These 
are  the  lines  :  — 

No  more  a  Chieftainess,  with  wampum-zone 
And  feather-cinctured  brow. 

Now,  I  can't  say  either  «  feather-girdled  "  or  "  feather-belted," 
after  using  zone.  There  only  remains  "  feather-banded,"  which 
sounds  flat  and  millinerish.  Gray  says  "  feather-cinctured  chiefs," 
referring  to  a  feather  petticoat,  hanging  from  the  waist ;  and  in 
the  same  line  he  steals  "  dusky  loves "  from  Pope  !  Why 
should  n't  I  take  what,  after  all,  is  probably  not  Gray's  own  ? 
Is  it  worth  while  to  be  tender  towards  such  an  intolerant  old 
thief  as  he  ?  As  for  what  may  be  said  of  me,  I  don't  regard  it 
at  all. 

I  swear  to  you,  I  never  thought  of  Gray  till  you  mentioned  the 
fact.  The  adjective  came  of  itself,  and  therefore  insists  on  stay 
ing.  There  is  no  poet  living,  or  who  ever  has  lived,  who  does 
not  occasionally  take  a  marked  word  from  another.  Even  Goethe 
took  Schiller's  Donnergang,  and  got  all  the  credit  of  it,  until  I 
first  pointed  out  where  it  came  from.  Tennyson  is  full  of  such 
use,  and  so  is  anybody  you  can  name. 

Give  me  an  equally  good  epithet,  and  I  '11  burn  incense  under 

1  In  the  line, 

Invade  thy  rising  Pantheon  of  the  Past. 


686  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

your  photograph  !  But  I  shall  not  spoil  my  invocation  to  our 
native  goddess  unless  I  can  get  something  equally  good.  There  ! 
Dixi! 

Those  who  shared  in  the  festivities  of  the  centennial 
Fourth  of  July  are  not  likely  soon  to  forget  it.  They 
are  not  likely  to  forget  the  blazing  sun  which  rose 
with  fierce  determination,  and  beat  down  upon  the 
mass  of  people  with  an  unstinted  fury  all  day  long. 
Certain  invited  guests  —  the  governors  of  the  States  — 
met  at  nine  o'clock  at  the  Continental  Hotel,  which 
was  swarming  with  curious  lookers-on.  Bayard  Tay 
lor's  mind  was  so  absorbed  in  the  task  before  him  that 
he  was  oblivious  of  the  people  whom  he  met,  and  did 
not  even  return  the  greetings  of  his  friends.  With  his 
wife  and  daughter,  he  marched  in  the  procession  which 
formed  at  tjie  hotel,  and  proceeded  to  the  square, 
where  an  immense  platform  had  been  built,  running 
the  length  of  Independence  Hall.  It  had  seats  for  four 
or  five  thousand  people,  who  were  partially  sheltered 
from  the  violence  of  the  sun  by  awnings  stretched 
above  them.  In  front  of  the  platform  was  a  dense, 
surging  mass  of  people,  who  were  at  the  sun's  mercy 
for  five  hours.  A  few  enterprising  ones  had  climbed 
the  shady  trees  and  were  ensconced  in  the  branches, 
whence  they  peeped  out  upon  the  multitude  below, 
but  all  were  full  of  enthusiasm.  They  greeted  with 
cheers  the  guests  as  they  took  their  places.  The  last 
to  come  was  the  Emperor  of  Brazil,  who  came  with 
out  ceremony,  and  with  the  alertness  which  he  alwavs 
showed  at  what  was  going  on  about  him. 

The  overture  from  the  band  at  the  other  end  of  the 
square  could  scarcely  be  heard  from  the  platform,  so 
restless  was  the  great  crowd.  At  last  Bayard  Taylor's 
part  came.  He  stood  upon  the  speaker's  stand,  with- 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  687 

out   manuscript   or   notes   of   any  kind,   and  in   his 
full,  strong  voice  began,  — 

Sun  of  the  stately  Day. 

There  was  something  in  his  presence,  erect,  impressive, 
filled  with  a  solemn  sense  of  the  moment,  something 
in  his  voice,  clear,  penetrating,  sonorous,  and  charged 
with  profound  emotion,  which  stilled  the  noise  and 
tumult  of  those  before  him,  hushed  even  the  lively 
creatures  in  the  branches,  and  made  the  vast  audience 
listen.  He  had  mastered  the  situation  in  a  moment, 
and  filled  with  his  theme,  he  poured  out  his  ode  with 
a  majesty  of  expression  which  held  the  people  to  the 
close.  It  was  a  real  victory  for  Poetry.  When  the 
last  word  was  uttered,  a  great  shout  rose  from  the  en 
thusiastic  people.  Shortly  before  the  close  of  the  ex 
ercises,  Bayard  Taylor  and  his  party  watched  their 
opportunity  to  escape.  General  Sheridan  was  just 
leaving,  and  the  crowd  opened  to  allow  him  to  pass. 
They  followed  close  behind.  People  were  packed  like 
a  wall  on  both  sides,  some  on  the  shoulders  of  others, 
and  as  they  caught  sight  of  him,  they  called  out 
eagerly,  "That  's  Bayard  Taylor  !  That  's  the  poet ! 
Hurrah  for  our  poet !  "  and  hands  were  thrust  out  to 
seize  his  in  the  general  excitement  and  enthusiasm. 
Whatever  criticism  might  be  given  in  cooler  moments 
to  his  ode,  Bayard  Taylor  had  the  rare  pleasure  of 
knowing  that  his  lofty  strains  had  fallen  upon  the  de 
lighted  ears  of  the  common  people.  Nor  was  this  the 
only  tribute,  for  as  soon  as  the  ode  had  been  published 
in  the  journals,  letters  from  friends  and  strangers 
rained  down  upon  him.  "  It  is  in  full  accordance  with 
the  great  occasion,"  Mr.  Whittier  wrote,  "and  will 
link  thy  name  honorably  with  it  forever.  I  felt  thee 
could  do  justice  to  the  theme,  and  I  am  sure  all  will 
VOL.  n.  18 


688  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

agree  with  me  that  thee  has  done  so.  I  wish  I  could 
have  heard  thy  recitation  of  it."  Bayard  Taylor's 
own  sensation  when  it  was  all  over  was  one  of  thank 
fulness  that  he  could  have  passed  through  such  an  ex 
perience,  and  then  of  extreme  exhaustion,  for  he  had 
wrought  to  a  high  pitch  his  already  overtaxed  brain. 

TO   REV.   H.    N.    POWERS. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  July  6,  1876. 

A  thousand  thanks  for  your  unstinted  congratulation  !  It  came 
yesterday,  with  a  dozen  warmly  appreciative  newspaper  notices, 
and  three  disparaging  sneers.  So  the  balance  is  firmly  on  the 
fortunate  side.  What  gratified  me  most  deeply,  because  so  ut 
terly  unexpected,  was  the  way  in  which  the  great  universal  crowd 
below  the  platform  received  my  stanzas.  I  never  before  saw  the 
people  silenced,  moved,  and  kindled  into  flame  by  poetry.  As  we 
passed  out  through  the  immense  masses  there  was  such  cheering 
and  offering  of  hard  hands  as  never  before  came  to  me.  In  fact, 
the  whole  experience  was  taken  out  of  the  old  Athenian  days.  I 
am  indescribably  grateful  to  have  had  it  once  in  my  life. 

I  was  wholly  absorbed  in  the  lines  as  I  repeated  them,  and 
made  myself  heard  by  ten  thousand  persons  without  spoiling 
rhythm  or  expression.  But  the  reaction  came  yesterday,  and  I 
am  scarcely  over  it  yet.  My  wife  joins  me  in  love  to  C.,  and 
thanks  for  your  generous  sympathy.  The  latter  is  just  as  neces 
sary  in  good  as  in  ill  fortune,  but  is  not  so  often  given  ! 

TO  GEORGE    H.   BOKER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  July  8,  1876. 

It  was  a  great  disappointment  not  to  see  you  on  the  Fourth. 
M.  especially  regrets  it,  since  now  she  will  not  be  able  to  see  you 
at  all.  I  regret  it  all  the  more  on  account  of  the  unfortunate 
cause. 

I  felt  such  a  reaction  afterwards,  and  the  evening  was  so  op 
pressive,  that  I  gave  up  going  to  DrexePs,  as  I  was  obliged  to 
leave  by  early  train  next  morning.  But  I  was  already  over 
whelmed  by  the  immediate  effect  of  the  ode,  —  a  thing  upon 
which  I  have  never  reckoned.  I  made  myself  heard  by  ten  thou- 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  689 

sand  people  without  spoiling  expression  or  rhythm,  and  the  mass 
below  the  platform  was  breathless  until  it  burst  out  into  flame. 
I  never  before  saw  the  common  people  silenced,  then  inspired,  by 
poetry.  As  we  went  out  through  the  mass,  hundreds  of  hard 
hands  were  stretched  to  me,  and  there  was  a  continual  suc 
cession  of  "  Three  cheers  for  the  Poet !  "  It  was  simply  amaz 
ing,  and  I  can  yet  hardly  comprehend  the  effect.  Well,  such  an 
experience  is  worth  living  for,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hearty  and 
generous  voices  of  friends.  Thank  you,  dear  old  fellow,  for  your 
magnanimous  words  ;  for,  according  to  the  small  ideas  of  news 
paper  critics,  we  ought  to  be  envious  rivals  !  What  you  say  of 
the  general  verdict  at  Drexel's  is  most  grateful  to  me,  —  and  so 
is  Peacock's  notice,  which  I  had  not  seen.  We  have  to  win  our 
way  slowly  by  single  steps,  but  this  last  is  a  little  higher  than 
usual.  I  can  already  see  that  it  has  modified  the  tone  of  certain 
journals  towards  me. 

In,  the  midst  of  congratulation  and  praise  came  the 
notes  also  of  envy,  depreciation,  and  slander.  Stories 
flew  about  that  the  poet  was  the  unwilling  choice  of 
the  Commission,  and  it  was  in  answer  to  one  of  these 
evil  reports  that  the  President  of  the  Commission 
wrote  the  following  note :  — 

J.    R.    HAWLEY   TO    BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

PHILADELPHIA,  July  14,  1876. 

.  .  ,  You  have  been  misinformed  as  to  alleged  opposition  to 
selecting  you  as  the  poet  of  the  celebration.  Mr.  Longfellow- 
was  first  chosen  last  autumn,  but  his  refusal  was  hardly  at  all  a 
surprise  to  us.  Some  of  us  were  quite  ready  to  come  early  to 
you,  but  the  general  sense  of  the  committee  demanded  that  we 
should  first  ask  those  several  gentlemen  of  an  earlier  age,  —  Mr. 
Lowell,  Dr.  Holmes,  and  Mr.  Whittier.  You  kindly  consented 
to  write  the  hymn  for  the  opening.  Nobody  so  well  as  I  knows 
how  absolutely  unselfish,  how  free  from  vanity,  how  patriotic  you 
were  in  all  this  matter.  You  labored  to  induce  others  to  take 
honors  that  you  had  every  right  to  aspire  to.  You  wrote  a  most 
admirable  hymn  for  the  opening,  and  offered  your  services  for 
any  duty  that  we  might  impose  upon  you.  When  I  was  happily 
left  to  offer  you  the  poem  of  the  Fourth,  I  wrote  the  Executive 


690  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Committee  and  received  a  prompt  response  from  every  one  ap 
proving  the  proposition.  Your  kindness  was  understood  by  them, 
and  most  gratefully  appreciated.  I  never  heard  an  unkind  or 
hostile  word  about  you  in  the  Commission.  Since  the  Fourth 
some  one  expressed  great  pleasure  over  your  success  because  of 
an  alleged  hostility  or  unfriendly  criticisms  in  Philadelphia,  — 
some  old  affair,  I  suppose,  for  I  got  a  very  indistinct  idea  about  it. 

We  are  all  more  than  satisfied,  —  profoundly  gratified.  How 
old  Homer  recited  his  verses,  or  how  effective  the  elocutionary 
skill  of  the  troubadours  may  have  been,  I  have  no  satisfactory 
evidence,  but  I  am  sure  no  poet  in  this  country  ever  delivered 
his  poem  so  well.  You  are  quite  right  in  thinking  that  the  great 
crowd  followed  and  appreciated  you.  I  never  saw  a  mass  of  the 
common  people  like  that  in  front  of  you  so  clearly  comprehend 
ing  a  poem.  Their  applause  was  given  instantly  and  with  unfail 
ing  judgment. 

I  'm  sorry  you  could  not  come  to  Drexel's  that  evening.  You 
would  have  received  a  shower  of  well-deserved  praise. 

Personally  as  well  as  officially  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  and 
very  proud  of  your  triumph. 

There  was  no  vacation  after  this  labor.  Leaving 
his  family  at  Cedarcroft,  Bayard  Taylor  took  up  his 
work  with  scarcely  an  interruption,  now  and  then 
visiting  his  family  as  his  errands  took  him  to  Phila 
delphia.  During  this  season  J.  K.  Osgood  &  Co. 
published  "The  Echo  Club  and  other  Literary  Diver 
sions,"  for  he  had  included  in  the  original  series  of 
sketches  his  witty  travesty-criticism  of  Browning's 
"  Inn  Album  "  and  "  The  Battle  of  the  Bards,"  both 
of  which  had  been  published  in  the  "Tribune."  It 
was  almost  a  piece  of  irony  that  he  should  be  repre 
sented  now  by  a  book  which  might  easily  seem  the  jest 
of  an  idler ;  it  was  worse  than  irony  to  him  that  so 
clever  and  skillful  a  bit  of  work  should  have  fallen 
upon  an  apathetic  public. 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  691 


TO   PAUL  H.   HAYNE. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  August  1, 1876. 

If  you  were  not  a  poet,  and  therefore  able  to  appreciate  all  the 
evils  and  troubles  and  embarrassments  and  shortcomings  of  poets, 
I  should  fear  to  write  to  you.  As  it  is,  I  don't  know  whether  I 
can  make  clear  to  you  all  that  has  weighed  upon  me  this  summer, 
—  all  the  labor,  anxiety,  disappointment,  loss  of  time,  neglect  of 
correspondence,  postponement  of  cherished  literary  plans,  etc. 
But  it  is  so.  I  have  not  been  so  pinched  pecuniarily,  driven  by 
necessity,  thwarted  in  all  reasonable  expectations,  for  twenty  years 
past.  I  have  sent  wife  and  daughter  into  the  country,  but  can 
not  go  myself.  During  a  month  of  such  heat  as  you  never  had 
in  the  South  I  have  been  doing  daily  work,  and  a  dozen  times 
when  I  have  taken  up  the  pen  to  write  to  you,  I  have  laid  it  down 
again  from  sheer  weariness. 

I  have  been  unsuccessful  with  your  poem,  as  I  feared.  I  am 
very  sorry  to  announce  this,  but  I  am  hardly  surprised  at  the  re 
sult  since  learning  that  this  summer  is  the  blackest  period  ever 
known  since  we  began  to  have  literature.  The  publishers  say 
that  they  never  knew  the  like  ;  absolutely  no  books  are  sold,  and 
the  papers  and  magazines  are  living,  as  much  as  possible,  on  al 
ready  accepted  material.  Osgood,  after  telling  me  this,  or  the 
substance  of  it,  has  just  brought  out  my  "  Echo  Club,"  and  I  feel 
sure  I  shall  not  get  ten  dollars  from  the  sale  !  What  is  to  become 
of  us? 

People  say  "better  times  are  coming."  I  hope  so,  but  I  have 
little  present  faith.  I  don't  believe  any  one  can  judge  fairly  un 
til  after  the  excitement  of  the  political  campaign  is  over.  Mean 
while,  I  drudge  and  sigh  and  wait. 

I  have  seen  Lanier  recently.  He  will  stay  North  for  the  pres 
ent.  He  is  a  charming  fellow,  of  undoubted  genius,  and  I  think 
will  make  his  mark.  In  him  the  elements  are  still  a  little  con 
fused,  but  he  will  soon  work  into  clearness  the  power  he  has 
already. 

In  the  same  season  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  published 
"  Boys  of  Other  Countries,"  a  series  of  sketches  orig 
inally  contributed  to  "  Our  Young  Folks  "  and  "  St. 
Nicholas,"  Osgood  &  Co.  published  the  National  Ode 


692  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

in  heliotype  fac-siinile  reproduction  of  his  singularly 
clear  handwriting,  and  Brockhaus,  in  Leipzig,  brought 
out  the  German  edition  of  the  Second  Part  of  "  Faust." 
Bayard  Taylor's  work  continued  through  the  summer 
and  autumn  to  be  mainly  upon  the  "  Tribune,"  where 
the  editorial  force  was  just  then  small  and  overworked ; 
he  also  wrote  reviews  for  "  The  International  Review," 
and  contributed  occasional  letters  to  the  Cincinnati 
"  Commercial."  At  the  end  of  August  his  family  re 
joined  him  in  New  York.  As  the  lecture  season  re 
turned  he  continued  to  have  many  invitations,  but  he 
was  compelled  to  select  such  places  only  as  he  could 
visit  near  at  hand  without  detriment  to  his  work  on  a 
daily  paper.  He  gave  his  lectures  on  German  Litera 
ture  before  the  Peabody  Institute  in  Baltimore,  travel 
ing  back  and  forth  for  this  purpose,  and  always  carry 
ing  with  him  books  for  review,  upon  which  he  worked 
while  traveling. 

The  wear  and  tear  of  such  a  life  was  incessant,  yet 
the  public  could  not  be  aware  of  it.  He  did  not  slight 
his  work  on  the  "  Tribune,"  but  used  as  much  care  as 
if  his  name  was  signed  to  every  editorial  or  criticism 
which  he  wrote.  He  even  wrote  two  or  three  poems, 
notably  the  "  Assyrian  Song  "  and  "  Peach  Blossom." 
Nothing  could  ever  prevent  him  from  writing  poetry, 
when  it  asked  for  expression.  Through  all  his  labori 
ous  days  and  nights  he  maintained  a  brave,  cheerful 
face,  which  did  not  betray  the  weariness  which  he 
suffered.  The  most  noticeable  sign  of  the  gradual  un 
dermining  of  his  remarkable  vitality  was  his  silence 
and  absent-mindedness.  From  being  always  on  the 
alert,  and  quick  to  respond,  he  seemed  now  to  be  pre 
occupied  and  absorbed.  It  was  the  effort  of  a  strong 
nature  to  conceal  its  wounds  and  to  concentrate  it- 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  693 

self  upon  the  necessary  performance  of  its  functions. 
Many  troubles  also  came  upon  his  family  circle  at  this 
time.  He  used  to  say  half-seriously,  half -humorously, 
that  the  fall  was  his  regular  season  for  bad  news,  and 
that  he  could  not  expect  anything  cheering  until  the 
winter  solstice  was  over,  and  the  sun  began  to  return. 
He  found  compensation,  indeed,  in  his  work.  It  was 
a  pleasure  to  call  attention  to  the  worthy  work  of  oth 
ers.  It  was  pleasant  to  find  that  his  words  in  such  a 
case  had  been  of  service  and  solace. 

SIDNEY   LANIER   TO   BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA.,  November  24,  1876. 

A  peculiar  affection  of  the  side  has  almost  incapacitated  me 
for  any  use  of  the  pen,  temporarily  ;  but  I  must  send  you  a  lit 
tle  note  in  order  to  share  with  you,  —  for  I  would  like  you  to 
have  half  of  all  my  good  things  in  this  world,  —  the  pleasure 
which  your  generous  notice  in  the  "  Tribune  "  has  given  me.  I 
recognized  it  as  yours  at  once,  and  I  therefore  did  not  stint 
myself  in  my  enjoyment  of  its  appreciative  expressions  any  more 
than  I  would  mar  my  smoking  of  your  cigars,  or  my  drinking  of 
your  wine,  with  arrieres  pensees,  for  I  know  that  the  one  was  as 
free  as  the  other. 

I  was  particularly  pleased  with  the  light  way  in  which  you 
touched  upon  my  faults,  and  I  say  this  not  hastily,  but  upon  a 
principle  to  which  I  've  given  a  good  deal  of  meditation.  The 
more  I  think  of  it  the  more  I  am  convinced,  that  every  genuine 
artist  may  be  safely  trusted  with  his  own  defects.  I  feel  per 
fectly  sure  that  there  are  stages  of  growth,  particularly  with 
artists  of  very  great  sensibility  who  live  remote  from  the  busi 
ness-life  of  men,  in  which  one's  habitual  faults  are  already  apt 
to  be  unhealthily  exaggerated  from  within,  and  the  additional 
forcing  of  such  a  tendency  from  'without,  through  perpetual 
reminders  of  shortcomings,  becomes  positively  hurtful  by  proud- 
fleshing  the  artistic  conscience  and  making  it  unnaturally  timid 
and  irritable.  In  looking  around  at  the  publications  of  the 
younger  American  poets,  I  am  struck  with  the  circumstance  that 
none  of  them  even  attempt  anything  great.  The  morbid  fear  of 
doing  something  wrong  or  unpolished  appears  to  have  influenced 


694  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

their  choice  of  subjects.  Hence  the  endless  multiplication  of 
those  little  feeble  magazine-lyrics  which  we  all  know,  consist 
ing  of  one  minute  idea  each,  which  is  put  in  the  last  line  of  the 
fourth  verse,  the  other  three  verses  and  three  lines  being  mere 
sawdust  and  surplusage. 

It  seems  to  me  to  be  a  fact  bearing  directly  upon  all  this,  that 
if  we  inquire  who  are  the  poets  that  must  be  read  with  the  great 
est  allowances,  we  find  them  to  be  precisely  the  greatest  poets. 
What  enormous  artistic  crimes  do  we  have  continually  to  pardon 
in  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare  !  How  often  is  the  first  utterly 
dull  and  long-winded,  the  second  absurdly  credulous  and  super 
stitious,  the  third  overdone  and  fantastical  !  But  we  have  long 
ago  settled  all  this,  we  have  forgiven  them  their  sins,  we  have 
ceased  to  place  emphasis  upon  the  matters  in  which  they  dis 
please  us,  and  when  we  recall  their  works,  our  minds  instinct 
ively  confine  remembrance  to  their  beauties  only.  And  apply 
ing  this  principle  to  the  great  exemplars  of  the  other  arts 
besides  poetry,  I  think  we  find  no  exception  to  the  rule  that  as 
to  the  great  artist  we  always  have  to  take  him  cum  onere. 

I  have  to  send  you  my  thanks  very  often.  I  hope  they  don't 
become  monstrous  to  you.  Your  praise  has  really  given  me  a 
great  deal  of  genuine  and  fruitful  pleasure.  The  truth  is,  that 
as  for  censure,  I  am  overloaded  with  my  own  ;  but  as  for  com 
mendation,  I  am  mainly  in  a  state  of  famine,  so  that  while  I 
cannot,  for  very  surfeit,  profitably  digest  the  former,  I  have 
such  a  stomach  for  the  latter  as  would  astonish  gods  and  men. 

BAYARD   TAYLOR   TO   T.    B.    ALDRICH. 

NEW  YORK,  December  9,  1876. 

Your  L.  has  just  left  us,  and  I  told  her  I  would  not  delay  writ 
ing  another  moment.  When  she  called  with  .B-  last  Sunday  I 
said  I  would  write  that  day,  and  sincerely  meant  to  do  so,  but 
one  interruption  came  after  another  with  my  imperative  Trib 
une  work  still  to  do.  ...  You  see  what  a  restless  life  is  mine 
just  now.  But  you  have  Been  present  in  my  mind  for  weeks 
past,  and  every  day  I  have  meant  to  write  to  you.  .  .  . 

Only  have  a  little  patience  with  me  in  these  dismal  times.  I 
am  trying  to  do  my  Tribune  work,  and  at  the  same  time  to  give 
lectures  enough  to  secure  me  two  or  three  months  at  the  Sulphur 
Springs  of  Virginia  next  summer.  I  have  positively  no  income 
except  from  my  personal  labor  ;  all  my  literary  plans  must  be 


THE  NATIONAL   ODE.  695 

postponed,  though  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart.  But  I  don't  mean  to 
be  depressed,  or  lose  one  jot  of  courage  or  faith.  It  will  all 
come  right  in  time.  I  have  some  things  yet  to  say,  and  will  say 
them.  Nevertheless,  I  have  not  been  compelled  to  work  so 
steadily  and  strenuously  for  twenty-five  years,  and  at  my  age  it 
tells  upon  me  physically.  There  have  been  many  days  when, 
after  getting  through  with  my  necessary  duties,  the  answering 
of  the  most  formal  note  seemed  too  great  a  burden.  I  have 
come  home  from  the  office  tired  out,  and  meaning  to  rest,  when 
some  sudden  demand  followed  to  write  an  editorial  late  at 
night.  If  I  had  not  a  great  capacity  for  sleep,  I  should  have 
utterly  broken  down  long  ago.  It  is  a  situation  from  which  I 
cannot  escape  ;  I  need  not  go  into  any  explanatory  details,  but 
for  two  years  to  come  I  shall  be  taxed  to  the  limit  of  my  powers. 
After  that,  D.  V.,  I  may  still  be  able  to  do  my  best  literary 
work  ;  at  any  rate,  I  shall  have  earned  the  right  to  do  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

1877. 

And  prophet  thought,  whose  lightning  pinions  go 
Beyond  the  shores  of  Time ! 

The  Poet's  Ambition. 
But  in  thy  scheme  lie  burning 
Keen  sparks  of  yearning,  — 
The  hope  that  dies  not, 
The  voice  that  lies  not, 
The  dream,  more  bright  at  each  returning ! 

Prince  Deukalion. 

THE  year  1877  began  as  the  last  year  had  closed, 
with  hard  work  on  the  "  Tribune,"  varied  by  exhaust 
ing  journeys  to  lecture.  There  was  no  rest  gained  by 
this  change  of  labor,  for  besides  the  privations  inci 
dent  to  winter  traveling,  work  always  accumulated  for 
him  at  the  office,  and  needed  to  be  cleared  away  on 
his  return.  Added  to  this  was  the  demand  made 
upon  him  for  unremunerative,  but  no  less  exacting 
work.  He  gave  freely,  and  when  he  did  not  give,  the 
withholding  brought  discomfort  and  irritation  to  him. 
He  was  not  given  to  hoarding  time  and  strength,  and 
he  pressed  on  diligently,  for  he  had  two  new  reasons 
for  labor :  his  house  at  Cedarcrof t  stood  in  need  of  ex 
tensive  repairs,  which  must  be  made  now  to  save  more 
considerable  expenditure  later,  and  he  was  warned  that 
he  must  be  absolutely  idle  in  the  summer  if  he  wished 
to  save  himself.  His  earthly  tabernacle  was  beginning 
to  show  serious  rents. 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  697 


TO  T.  B.  ALDRICH. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  January  27,  1877. 

I  need  n't  say  how  welcome  your  letter  was  to  me.  I  did  n't 
answer  it  immediately,  because  I  have  been  literally  ground 
to  the  dust  with  work  and  worry.  You  cannot  guess,  in  your 
Ponkapog  seclusion,  how  much  of  an  author's  time  is  wasted  in 
attending  to  requests  of  friends  (especially  women)  for  help  in 
this  or  that  good  work,  which  can't  quite  be  refused.  It  is  get 
ting  to  be  the  great  bane  of  my  life.  In  addition,  my  reputa 
tion  among  the  Germans  brings  upon  me  no  end  of  solicitations. 
The  invitations  to  dine  with  clubs  and  societies,  to  make  ad 
dresses,  to  do  this  or  that,  although  I  almost  invariably  refuse  or 
decline,  fritter  away  many  precious  hours,  and  exhaust  a  certain 
kind  of  nervous  force.  Committees  call  and  must  be  received  ; 
they  beg  and  insist  ;  I  can't  turn  them  out,  and  though  I  escape 
in  the  end  the  fresh  edge  is  taken  off  my  capacity  to  work.  The 
fact  is,  —  and  it  is  melancholy  to  contemplate,  —  I  seem  to  be 
much  more  popular  than  my  books.  If  the  latter  sold  I  should 
have  more  means  and  time,  and  one  thing  would  balance  the 
other.  But  to  have  the  annoyance  only,  and  not  the  gain,  drives 
me  frequently  to  the  verge  of  desperation.  .  .  . 

I  hope  your  book  did  well,  in  spite  of  the  dismal  season.  We 
are  sure  to  have  much  better  times  by  the  end  of  this  year,  no 
matter  who  is  President.  I  must  do  extra  work  now,  because 
prescribes  the  Sulphur  Springs  of  Virginia  for  next  sum 
mer.  I  've  written  two  good  poems  lately,  but  the  main  thing, 
my  lyrical  drama,  lies  idle. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  winter  Bayard  Taylor  was 
urged  to  give  his  lectures  on  German  Literature  in 
New  York  and  Brooklyn  to  audiences  chiefly  of  ladies. 
The  task  was  an  agreeable  one  and  spared  him  the  ne 
cessity  of  traveling,  but  it  was  not  wholly  a  relief,  for 
he  went  carefully  over  the  manuscript  of  each  lecture 
before  repeating  it,  and  often  became  so  interested 
again  in  the  theme  that  he  forgot  everything  else  in 
following  new  lines  of  thought ;  he  recast  parts,  made 


698  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

notes  for  extemporaneous  passages,  and  added  poetical 
translations  for  illustration.  It  was  not  in  him  to 
slight  his  work.  Mr.  Lanier  at  this  time  wrote  a 
poem,  "  Under  the  Cedarcroft  Chestnut,"  published  in 
"  Scribner's  Monthly,"  in  January,  1878.  "  I  wanted 
to  say  all  manner  of  fair  things  about  you,  but  I  was 
so  intensely  afraid,"  Mr.  Lanier  wrote,  "  of  appear 
ing  to  plaster  you  that  I  finally  squeezed  them  all  into 
one  line. 

"  *  In  soul  and  stature  larger  than  thy  kind.'  " 

TO    SIDNEY   LANIER. 

NEW  YORK,  March  12,  1877. 

Drudgery,  drudgery,  drudgery  !  What  else  can  I  say  ?  Does 
not  that  explain  all  ?  Two  courses  of  twelve  lectures  on  Ger 
man  Literature,  here  and  in  Brooklyn,  daily  work  on  the  "  Trib 
une,"  magazine  articles  (one  dismally  delayed),  interruptions  of 
all  sorts,  and  just  as  much  conscience  as  you  may  imagine 
pressing  upon  me  to  write  to  you  and  other  friends  !  The  fact 
is,  I  am  so  weary,  fagged,  with  sore  spots  under  the  collar-bone, 
and  all  sorts  of  indescribable  symptoms  which  betoken  lessened 
vitality,  that  I  must  piteously  beg  you  to  grant  me  much  al 
lowance. 

...  I  must  say  frankly  ("  which  I  should  not ")  that  the 
"  Chestnut-Tree  "  is  very  fine.  .  .  .  Why  not  change  the  title  to 
"  The  Chestnut-Tree  at  (or  of)  Cedarcroft  "  ?  It  seems  a  little 
less  personal.  The  line  you  mention  is  fine,  apart  from  mine 
own  interest  in  it  ;  too  good  as  applied  to  me.  Somehow  I  feel 
as  if  such  things  might  be  said  after  a  man  is  dead,  —  hardly 
while  he  is  living.  But  that  you  feel  impelled  to  say  it  now  gives 
me  a  feeling  of  dissolving  warmth  about  the  heart.  You  must 
not  think,  my  dear  friend,  that  simply  because  I  recognize  your 
genius  and  character,  and  the  purity  of  the  aims  of  both,  that  I 
confer  any  obligation  on  you  !  From  you,  and  all  like  you,  few 
as  they  are,  I  draw  my  own  encouragement  for  that  work  of 
mine  which  I  think  may  possibly  live.  .  .  . 

I  have  a  great  many  more  things  to  say,  but  you  '11  pardon  me. 
I  am  deadly  tired,  and  hardly  know  how  I  've  kept  up  the  past 
year  without  breaking  down  utterly.  But  I  must  at  least  tell 


PRINCE  DE  UK  ALTON.  699 

you  how  glad  I  am  always  to  hear  from  you,  —  how  I  pray  for 
your  restoration  to  enough  of  health  to  do  the  work  God  meant 
you  to  do. 

Three  or  four  days  after  this  confession  of  physical 
weakness,  Bayard  Taylor  achieved  a  feat  which  was 
as  much  greater  than  the  mechanical  exploits  of  jour 
nalism  as  the  spirit  of  man  is  superior  to  a  machine. 
He  received  one  evening  the  two  thick  volumes  of 
Victor  Hugo's  "La  Le*gende  des  Siecles,"  and  the 
next  evening  delivered  to  the  printer  copy  for  a  re 
view  which  fills  eighteen  pages  of  his  posthumous  vol 
ume  of  "  Essays  and  Literary  Notes,"  and  contains 
five  considerable  poems,  which  are  translations  in  the 
metre  of  the  original.  "  The  translations,"  writes  Mr. 
Stedman,  "  are  what  make  the  feat  so  surprising.  All 
are  interesting,  and  the  last  two,  '  Solomon '  and 
'  Moschus,'  read  like  the  best  and  most  characteristic 
of  your  original  poems.  *  Moschus '  is  exquisite.  No 
one  would  ever  imagine  it  to  be  a  translation." 

He  did  not  lack  for  work,  and  his  fame  for  versa 
tility  seems  to  have  penetrated  the  region  of  mental 
dullness  which  is  illustrated  by  the  following  letter : 

,  March  24,  1877. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  Hearing  that  you  are  a  poet  of  some  note  as  well 
as  a  good  Oration  writer  I  come  to  ask  you  this  question  and  I 
would  like  very  much  to  have  an  answe  in  one  or  two  days  as  no 
doubt  you  can  write  a  very  good  Oration  if  so  Let  me  know  your 
price  and  if  you  can  not  write  an  Oration  please  let  me  know  of 
any  one  that  can  please  do  not  do  as  others  do  but  answer  my 
letter  as  soon  as  you  can  and  also  state  your  price  of  writing  one 
for  me,  in  every  case  in  writing  directions  give  no  of  Box  or 
Street.  Yours  Very  Truly 


P.  0.  Box  98. 


700  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

P.  S.  give  price  and  also  subject  which  you  would  write  on. 
P.  S.  Please  give  me  the   directions  of  E.   C.   Stedmau  and 
W.  H.  Stoddard  and  much  oblige        Yours  Truly. 

He  did  not  "do  as  others  do,"  but  replied  most 
cheerfully  to  his  anxious  correspondent,  and  gave  the 
addresses  asked  for  with  great  alacrity :  — 

NEW  YORK,  March  27,  1877. 

SIR,  —  I  have  received  your  letter  asking  me  the  price  of  an 
oration  to  be  written  by  me  for  your  use.  I  regret  to  say  that  I 
am  quite  out  of  orations  ready-made.  The  recent  political  ex 
citement  obliged  me  to  prepare  a  large  number  for  the  politi 
cians  on  both  sides  ;  and  I  have  now  taken  a  contract  to  write 
seventy-five  sermons  for  a  new  sect  which  will  soon  come  into 
existence.  As  it  is  generally  known  that  I  furnish  speeches,  ora 
tions,  scientific  lectures,  sermons,  and  humorous  entertainments, 
I  have  more  applications  than  I  can  fill,  and  have  been  obliged 
to  raise  my  price  from  $27.25  to  $43.60,  according  to  subject 
and  style. 

Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman,  however,  has  quite  a  number  of  scientific 
and  exoteric  orations,  some  of  which  have  been  once  used  in 
Texas  and  Oregon,  but  are  still  new  in  the  Atlantic  States.  His 
address  is  80  Broadway. 

Mr.  R.  H.  Stoddard  (at  329  East  Fifteenth  Street)  has  several 
orations  devoted  to  moral  and  spiritual  reform.  They  are  seri 
ous,  but  very  touching,  and  I  think  one  of  them  might  suit  you 
quite  as  well  as  anything  I  could  write. 

I  may  remark,  however,  that  the  price  of  ready-made  orations 
has  increased  within  a  year  or  two,  owing  to  the  greater  number 
of  new  reputations  which  we  have  been  called  upon  to  construct. 
Yours  truly,  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

There  was  a  limit,  however,  to  the  work  which  he 
could  do.  He  had  written  his  letters  to  the  Cincin 
nati  "  Commercial  "  as  occasion  might  prompt,  but  he 
decided  that  he  must  give  up  this  part  of  his  work, 
voluntary  as  it  was,  and  he  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
Mr.  Halstead,  the  editor  of  the  paper,  in  which  he 
was  led  to  free  his  mind  regarding  the  general  cir- 


PRINCE  DE  UK A  LION.  701 

cumstances  under  which  he,  like  other  men  of  letters, 
was  working. 

TO  MURAT   HALSTEAD. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  April  16,  1877. 

At  last  I  have  a  free,  unbespoken  evening,  and  am  not  too  tired 
to  write  ;  so  I  can  unburden  my  conscience  of  the  perilous  stuff 
that  has  been  weighing  upon  it  for  the  last  two  months.  This 
will  be  such  a  great  relief  that  I  shall  use  it  almost  as  a  luxury  ; 
and  as  I  look  at  the  empty  rocking-chair  beside  my  table,  which 
you  may  remember  having  so  comfortably  filled  when  you  first 
made  the  proposition,  the  substance  of  what  I  said  to  you  then 
comes  back  to  my  mind.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  Probably  not ; 
so,  ratner  than  take  too  much  for  granted,  let  me  recall  it.  When 
you  proposed  that  I  should  send  you  letters  to  the  "  Commer 
cial,"  weekly  if  possible,  but  with  an  irregular  continuity  in  any 
case,  I  was  well  disposed  to  comply  ;  but  I  am  enough  of  a  jour 
nalist  to  understand  the  necessity  of  selecting  only  such  material 
as  may  have  a  general  interest,  and  treating  it  in  a  free,  lively 
manner.  I  was  a  little  doubtful,  in  the  first  place,  of  being  able 
to  do  this  as  it  ought  to  be  done  ;  I  was  almost  certain  that  I 
could  not  keep  it  up  for  any  length  of  time.  Hence  I  stipulated 
— that,  of  course,  you  remember — that  I  should  be  at  liberty 
to  discontinue  the  correspondence  whenever  it  should  become  too 
serious  a  task. 

Well,  the  time  has  come,  and  even  a  little  sooner  than  I  an 
ticipated.  After  finishing  my  lecturing  engagements  outside  of 
the  city,  I  supposed  that  I  might  at  least  send  you  irregular  re 
ports  of  what  is  going  on  here.  But  the  experiment  of  giving 
my  series  of  twelve  lectures  on  German  Literature  here  and  in 
Brooklyn  proved  successful.  (Whether  successful  or  not,  the 
nervous  wear  and  tear  would  have  been  the  same.)  Now,  im 
agine  me  giving  four  lectures  a  week,  doing  my  daily  work  on 
the  "  Tribune,"  attending  to  my  correspondence,  household  and 
other  private  matters,  to  say  nothing  of  vainly  striving  to  snatch 
an  hour  now  and  then  for  my  own  cherished  and  long-delayed 
literary  labor,  and  judge  for  yourself  what  chance  there  is  of  my 
doing  good,  honest,  conscientious  work  for  you  and  your  readers. 
I  see  my  best  friends  seldom,  except  when  they  are  kind  enough 
to  come  to  me  ;  I  deny  myself  a  great  deal  of  social  recreation, 


702  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

which  I  both  heartily  enjoy  and  think  necessary  to  a  rational  life  ; 
I  mortally  offend  numbers  of  unknown  individuals  by  not  an 
swering  their  unnecessary  letters  of  inquiry  :  yet  I  still  lack  the 
needful  rest  of  body  and  brain.  The  outgo  must  be  contracted 
somewhere  ;  if  I  take  off  that  for  which  I  am  just  now  least 
fitted,  and  cease  to  chat  with  your  subscribers,  will  you  not 
pardon  me  ? 

But,  seriously,  now,  my  dear  friend,  have  you  any  idea  of  the 
life  of  a  man  who  has  attained  a  certain  amount  of  name  (by 
which  I  don't  mean  fame)  in  literature  ?  Have  you  ever  con 
sidered  how  many  solid  claims  are  made  in  return  for  certain 
very  intangible  advantages  ?  I  should  like  to  enlighten  you  a 
little  on  this  point,  for  within  the  last  year  I  have  seen  the  com 
fortable  statement  repeated  in  various  newspapers  that  a  man 
has  only  to  do  good  literary  work  in  order  to  be  appreciated  — 
and  rewarded.  Nothing  could  be  more  untrue  in  this  country  at 
this  time.  The  public  supposes  that  the  mere  knowledge  of  a 
man's  name  is  the  token  of  his  success.  If  notoriety  were  suc 
cess,  this  would  be  true  ;  but  it  is  sometimes  the  reverse.  How 
ever,  notoriety  brings  with  it  the  same  penalties  as  genuine  fame  ; 
and  a  large  proportion  of  the  very  persons  who  most  worry  an 
author  imagine  that  they  are  cheering  him  with  compliment  ! 
When  they  do  not  do  this,  they  boldly  assert  their  claims  upon 
his  time  and  patience.  For  instance,  notliing  is  more  common 
than  for  me  to  receive  a  package  of  MSS.,  accompanied  by  a 
letter,  beginning  in  this  way  :  "  I  ask  of  you  the  same  assistance 
which  others  gave  to  you  when  you  were  young.  Will  you  read 
my  manuscripts,  and  return  them  to  me  with  your  critical  judg 
ment  ?  "  etc.  The  simple  fact  is,  I  never  had  such  assistance  when 
young.  I  never  sent  an  article  to  an  author  who  was  not  also 
the  editor  of  a  periodical ;  I  never  asked  another's  influence  to 
procu-re  admission  into  a  magazine  ;  and,  with  all  the  sympathy 
which  I  still  keep  for  the  hope  and  uncertainty  of  beginners,  I 
have  never  yet  found  that  my  frank  criticism  was  of  any  avail, 
except  to  make  me  enemies  when  the  ardent  young  poet  subsides 
into  the  reporter  or  paragraph-writer. 

But  I  meant  to  go  a  little  more  into  particulars.  This  letter 
is  already  fearfully  long,  but  I  am  to-night  "  i'  the  vein,"  and 
you  must  e'en  have  patience  to  read  it.  Applications  for  auto 
graphs  —  when  they  send  one  card  and  an  addressed  envelope 
—  are  easily  answered,  and  I  can't  refuse  the  boys  and  girls. 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  703 

Then  follow  questioning  letters  about  all  sorts  of  things,  for 
which  the  writers  need  only  consult  a  cyclopaedia.  The  other 
day  I  had  one  from  Ohio,"  insisting  that  I  should  decide  a  bet 
whether  the  Khedive's  private  income  is  greater  than  the  Sul 
tan's  !  Next  come,  less  frequently,  invitations  to  deliver  orations 
or  poems  before  colleges,  college  societies,  associations  of  all 
sorts,  public  meetings  or  charities,  but  each  requiring  a  careful 
and  respectful  statement  of  the  reasons  for  declining.  In  this 
class  I  count  personal  visits  from  committees  or  individuals, 
pressing  similar  requests,  and  rarely  to  be  satisfied  under  less 
than  half  an  hour's  argument.  I  could  increase  the  list  mate 
rially,  but  this  will  be  enough  to  show  you  how  much  mental  and 
vital  force  may  be  dulled  and  wearied,  and  all  for  nobody's 
profit.  Sometimes,  for  weeks  together,  I  thus  lose  an  hour  or 
two  every  day. 

If  you  coidd  in  some  way  help  to  make  people  understand 
that  no  author  who  is  not  independently  rich  can  possibly  respond 
to  the  claims  made  upon  him,  and  that  wealth  is  never  attained 
in  this  country,  or  perhaps  any  other,  by  the  highest,  purest, 
and  most  permanent  form  of  literary  labor,  you  will  do  a  real 
service  to  our  guild.  Emerson  is  now  seventy-four  years  old, 
and  his  last  volume  is  the  only  one  which  has  approached  a  re 
munerative  sale.  Bryant  is  in  his  eighty-third  year,  and  he  could 
not  buy  a  modest  house  with  all  he  ever  received  in  his  life  from 
his  poems.  Washington  Irving  was  nearly  seventy  years  old  be 
fore  the  sale  of  his  works  at  home  met  the  expenses  of  his  sim 
ple  life  at  Sunny  side.  I  have  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  the 
remuneration  formerly  derived  from  those  works  which  I  know 
to  possess  slight  literary  value.  But  the  translation  of  "  Faust," 
to  which  I  gave  all  my  best  and  freshest  leisure  during  a  period 
of  six  or  seven  years,  has  only  yielded  me  about  as  much  as  a 
fortnight's  lecturing.  I  have  spent  two  or  three  years  in  collect 
ing  the  material  and  making  the  preparatory  studies  for  a  new 
biography  of  Goethe,  and  I  have  been  waiting  two  years  longer 
for  the  fitting  leisure  to  begin  the  work.  In  order  to  undertake 
it  I  must  own  my  time  in  advance.  No  matter  how  successful  it 
might  be  considered,  it  could  not  possibly  bring  me  more  than  a 
tithe  of  the  amount  which  drudgery  for  the  markets  of  literature 
would  return,  in  the  same  time.  But  the  matter  of  money 
does  n't  enter  into  my  plan.  I  only  look  forward  and  yearn  for 
the  chance. 

VOL.  II.  19 


704  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Don't  misunderstand  me,  therefore  ;  this  is  not  complaint,  but 
explanation.  It 's  absurd  to  complain  about  what  is  inevitable. 
Almost  every  American  author  I  kn6w  has  more  or  less  of  the 
same  trouble  ;  but  some  have  a  better  fortune  to  balance  it.  One, 
whom  we  know,  loses  much  time  through  women  who  have  far 
more  time  at  their  command,  but  who  try  to  pile  upon  his  shoul 
ders  a  good  part  of  the  burden  of  their  own  charitable  interests. 
It  is  so  easy  to  help,  —  and  get  the  credit  of  it,  —  in  this  way  ! 
However,  we  try  to  be  as  courteous  and  considerate  as  in  us  lies. 
I  think  there  is  only  one  thing  that  upsets  my  chronic  patience  : 
it  is  when  some  one  comes  with  a  particularly  onerous  and  un 
necessary  claim,  and  begins  thus  :  "  Oh,  you  are  before  the  pub 
lic,  you  know,  so  I  feel  that  I  have  the  right  to  call  upon  you, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  see  that  your  duty,"  etc.  I  declare  to 
you  I  am  sometimes  so  weary  with  my  routine  of  daily  work,  so 
dull  for  lack  of  the  social  recreation  which  I  must  forego,  so  dis 
appointed  in  not  attaining  the  leisure  for  my  own  independent 
and  desired  labor,  that  when  a  demand  of  this  sort  comes  it  re 
quires  a  colossal  effort  to  repress  all  signs  of  irritation. 

Here  's  now  the  seventh  page,  and  I  must  stop.  But  I  could 
write  a  magazine  article  on  the  subject.  I  foresee  that  I  shall 
finally  be  obliged  to  return  to  Cedarcroft,  to  write  the  biography. 
If  all  this  interruption  and  consequent  wear  and  tear  won't  let 
me  alone,  I  must  get  out  of  its  way.  When  I  happen  to  speak 
of  it,  people  innocently  say,  "  Why  don't  you  keep  a  secretary  ?  " 
Great  heavens  !  I  'd  rather  take  a  secretary's  salary  and  buy  up 
two  or  three  months  of  my  own  time.  Well,  the  true  secret  of 
life  lies  in  making  the  most  of  one's  circumstances  ;  but  I  can't 
quite  understand  why  the  fact  of  one's  name  being  tolerably  well 
known  should  impose  upon  him  so  many  hindrances.  If  one 
could  really  help  !  — but  an  experience  of  several  hundred  young 
aspirants  for  literary  fame  has  been  very  discouraging  to  me. 

I  have  writen  rather  ramblingly,  having  too  much  to  say  to  be 
strictly  simple  and  logical.  But  you  will  get  the  drift  of  my 
letter,  I  am  sure,  and  will  recognize  the  necessity  I  am  under  of 
simplifying  my  work.  Some  critics  have  charged  me  with  at 
tempting  too  much,  —  trying  too  many  fields.  Trying  ?  —  when 
it  was  a  matter  of  sheer  necessity  !  I  should  only  be  too  happy 
if  I  were  in  a  condition  to  give  up  everything  but  the  one  path 
of  literary  labor  which  I  know  was  designed  for  me,  —  if  any 
ever  was.  Dixi. 


PRINCE  DE  UK ALTON.  705 


TO   T.   B.   ALDRICH. 

NEW  YORK,  May  7, 1877. 

...  I  have  had  no  release  from  hard  work  yet.  My  lectures, 
although  very  successful,  were  a  drain  upon  my  strength,  as  I 
had  to  do  the  usual  amount  of  Tribune  work  at  the  same  time  ; 
and  since  then,  the  art  criticism  has  been  added  to  my  burden. 
Did  you  see  my  article  on  Tennyson  in  the  "International  Re 
view  ?  "  In  addition  to  that  I  have  written  a  paper  on  Bismarck  ; 
but  now  the  limit  of  possible  work  has  been  reached,  and  I  am 
forced  to  give  up  all  magazine-writing  for  a  thne.  I  am  longing 
for  the  1st  of  July,  for  then  we  shall  go  to  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs  of  Virginia  for  a  month  or  two,  finishing  up  with  a  short 
season  at  Cedarcroft. 

TO    SIDNEY   LANIER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  May  9,  1877. 

...  I  have  been  forced  to  write  six  long  art-criticisms  on  the 
Exhibition,  and  you  've  no  idea  how  exhausting  such  work  is.  In 
fact,  it  is  only  within  two  days  that  I  begin  to  feel  a  little  lifting 
of  the  strain  upon  me,  and  wake  up  o'  mornings  with  the  sense  of 
being  moderately  refreshed  by  sleep.  All  this  work  has  been  in 
evitable,  owing  to  necessity  of  meeting  some  unusual  expenses 
this  spring.  But  I  have  laid  up  enough  for  two  months  of  sum 
mer  idleness,  for  which  I  pant  as  the  hart  for  the  water-brooks, 
and  so  can  only  be  thankful.  .  .  . 

At  the  end  of  May  Bayard  Taylor  went  to  Ithaca 
to  delivered  his  lectures  before  the  University,  and  a 
month  later  went  to  Providence  to  read  a  poem,  "Sol 
diers  of  Peace,"  before  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Poto 
mac,  a  task  which  he  had  refused  the  year  before  and 
now  took  up  with  extreme  reluctance.  A  few  days 
afterward  he  went  with  his  family  for  his  much-needed 
rest  at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs,  where  he  had 
taken  a  cottage.  He  was  asked  to  give  a  poem  at  a 
celebration  of  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  mas 
sacre  at  Paoli,  September  20th,  but  declined  in  the 
following  letter :  — 


706  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   T.    BAYARD   WOOD. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  June  29,  1877. 

Your  letter  has  just  reached  me  here,  as  we  have  not  yet  gone 
to  Cedarcroft  for  the  summer.  There  could  be  no  greater  in 
ducement  to  me  to  perform  the  duty  you  request  than  the  circum 
stance  that  it  is  a  Chester  County  commemoration.  Hence  I 
regret  the  more  that  I  am  compelled  to  decline.  I  am  over 
worked,  and  leave  on  Monday  for  the  White  Sulphur  Springs 
(Va.),  where  I  mean  to  live  for  a  while  without  using  my  pen. 
The  poem  I  have  just  delivered  in  Providence,  R.  I.,  was  written 
in  consequence  of  a  promise  made  last  year,  and  the  experience 
satisfies  me  that  I  must  undertake  no  more  tasks  of  the  kind  for 
some  time  to  come.  There  is  nothing  more  difficult  in  literature 
than  to  write  a  good  poem  for  a  special  occasion,  and  the  very 
anticipation  of  it  would  rob  me  of  all  peace  of  mind  from  now 
until  the  20th  of  September.  Both  last  year  and  this,  I  have  been 
severely  taxed,  and  feel  that  I  cannot  and  ought  not  to  undertake 
a  new  labor. 

Accept  my  sincere  thanks  for  the  compliment  contained  in 
your  invitation. 

At  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  he  was  joined  by  his 
friends  Mr.  McEntee  and  wife,  and  gave  himself  up 
as  well  as  he  could  to  complete  relaxation,  resuming 
the  recreation  of  painting,  and  luxuriating  in  the 
lovely  nature  and  climate  of  the  resort.  Rumors  had 
now  begun  to  fly  about  that  the  new  administration 
had  it  in  mind  to  appoint  him  to  a  foreign  mission  ; 
Russia  was  named  most  prominently,  and  in  one  of  the 
papers  the  alternative  of  Belgium  was  given.  This 
prospect  had  no  charms  for  him,  and  he  took  an  early 
opportunity  to  intimate  to  the  government  that  he 
should  not  accept  that  appointment.  He  did,  how 
ever,  catch  at  the  possibility  of  going  to  Berlin.  He 
would  not  make  application  for  the  office,  but  he  saw 
in  such  a  position  an  opportunity  to  write  his  life  of 


PRINCE  DEUKALWN.  707 

Goethe  and  Schiller,  and  he  began  eagerly  to  build 
upon  this  chance. 

TO  T.   B.   ALDRICH. 

WHITE  SULPHUR  SPRINGS,  GREENBRIER  Co.,  W.  VA., 

July  5,  1877. 

...  I  have  a  holiday  of  two  months,  during  which  I  shall  only 
put  pen  to  paper  in  order  to  write  to  a  few  old  friends.  Mc- 
Entee  will  join  me  here  next  week,  and  we  are  going  a-sketch- 
ing.  Talk  of  your  Poukapog  air  !  We  are  here  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  yet  with  mountains  two  thousand  feet  higher 
all  around  us  ;  turf  as  in  England,  groves  of  glorious  ancient  oaks, 
and  an  atmosphere  like  that  of  heaven.  We  have  a  cottage  to 
ourselves,  two  dark  retainers,  an  ex-Governor  on  one  side  and  a 
coming  President  promised  for  the  other,  the  most  courteous  and 
refined  society,  and  such  an  amount  of  kindness  since  leaving 
Washington  as  I  have  found  nowhere  else  in  the  United  States  ! 
Take  away  your  Saratogas  and  your  Long  Branches  ! 


TO   SIDNEY  LANIER. 
WHITE  SULPHUR  SPRINGS,  W.  VA.,  July  11,  1877. 

...  As  for  the  mission,  I  think  "  Belgium  "  must  be  a  mistake 
for  "  Berlin."  It  would  be  singular  to  offer  the  choice  of  a  first 
or  fourth  rate  place  !  In  any  case,  the  German  mission  is  the 
only  one  I  am  able  to  take  ;  and  if  it  is  not  offered,  I  '11  even 
stay  at  home.  But  the  matter  ought  to  be  decided  soon  :  it  dis 
quiets  me  a  little,  in  spite  of  my  best  will  not  to  think  of  the 
matter. 

This  is  the  most  complete  nest  of  repose  I  have  yet  found  in 
America.  The  air,  the  quiet,  the  society,  are  just  what  I  need  ; 
I  drink  the  water  and  bathe,  and  am  feeling  like  a  new  man. 
But,  oh  !  how  supremely  lazy  I  am  !  It 's  an  effort  even  to  write 
a  letter  to  a  friend.  I  walk  half  a  mile,  sit  down  under  a  tree, 
look  at  the  rich  colors  of  the  wooded  mountains,  and  am  animally 
happy.  I  only  write  poems  in  dreams,  and  here  's  a  line  which 
came  to  me  thus,  the  other  night :  — 

"  The  ship  sails  true,  because  the  seas  are  wide." 

Let  me  break  off  here.  This  indolence  (I  foresee)  will  breed 
fresh  activity  ;  but  I  don't  want  to  think  of  that  now.  .  .  . 


708  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

WHITE  SULPHUR  SPRINGS,  W.  VA.,  July  13,  1877. 

I  am  satisfied  that  I  have  found  the  right  place.  The  air  here, 
the  sulphur-water,  the  baths,  and  the  general  quiet  are  precisely 
what  I  needed.  I  am  gaining  in  every  way,  day  after  day  ;  and 
the  influences  seem  equally  good  for  my  wife  and  daughter.  The 
Southern  society  here  shows  the  most  courteous  and  amiable 

temper  towards  us  :  the  two  Governors, and ,  are  men 

of  culture  and  refinement,  and  there  are  very  pleasant  people 
from  farther  South.  I  sit  under  a  tree  and  make  sketches  with 
McEntee  in  the  forenoon,  and  then  loaf  until  evening,  when  some 
one  generally  calls  to  give  us  a  drive  through  these  charming 
mountain  valleys. 

I  am  a  little  unsettled  (even  with  the  best  will  to  keep  per 
fectly  cool)  by  all  the  newspaper  talk  about  the  Russian  and 
Belgian  missions.  The  government  has  given  no  hint  to  me,  yet 
I  suppose  there  must  be  some  basis  for  the  report.  Now,  as 
I  told  you,  I  do  not  want,  and  cannot  accept,  either  the  Rus 
sian  or  the  Belgian  place  ;  but  I  should  consider  it  as  a  special 
good  fortune  to  have  the  mission  to  Germany.  It  is  of  the  same 
rank  as  the  Russian,  hence  would  involve  no  higher  ambition,  and 
I  am  entirely  sure  of  my  qualifications  for  the  place.  Knowing 
Germany  so  well,  I  could  live  in  Berlin  on  the  salary  (which  I 
could  not  do  in  St.  Petersburg),  and  there  would  be  leisure 
enough  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  years  to  finish  my  Goethe 
work.  The  position  would  at  once  open  to  me  many  archives 
not  easily  accessible  otherwise.  I  think  the  fact  that  I  can  make 
a  speech  in  German,  and  the  chance  I  should  have  of  furthering 
communication  in  the  fields  of  science  and  scholarship  between 
the  two  countries,  would  enable  me  to  be  of  real  service  to  the 
government. 

I  only  ask  you,  in  case  you  hear  anything  said  by  those  in 
authority  in  regard  to  the  matter,  to  present  this  view.  I  am 
very  doubtful  whether  I  could  get  the  place,  —  certainly  I  shall 
not  ask  for  it,  —  but  there  may  be  just  a  possibility. 

WHITE  SULPHUR,  W.  VA.,  July  28  (Saturday),  1877. 
.  .  .  We  leave  for  Cedarcroft  on  Wednesday,  August  1st.    The 
weather  is  now  intolerably  hot,  and  daily  hot  sulphur-baths  are 
somewhat  debilitating.     But  at  least  I  am  having  my  system 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  709 

thoroughly  washed  out,  aud  shall  begin  a  tonic  course  on  leav 
ing  here.  I  meant  to  write  a  letter  or  two,  and  still  may  ;  but 
you  have  hardly  room  for  such  now.  Perhaps  it  may  do  a  week 
hence. 

No  word  from  Washington,  and  I  don't  expect  any  while  the 
trouble  lasts.  But  Halstead  has  written  to  me  that  he  knows  that 
Hayes,  Evarts,  and  Schurz  are  favorable  to  me  ;  that  he  him 
self  would  write  immediately  to  Hayes  ;  and  that  Judge  Force 
of  Cincinnati  (whom  I  don't  know)  had  written  a  very  strong 
letter.  This  letter  of  Halstead's  was  in  answer  to  my  inquiry 
whether  he,  or  any  one  whom  he  knew,  had  suggested  my  name 
in  the  first  place.  He  says  emphatically  no  :  it  was  voluntary 
on  the  part  of  the  government, —  which  is  all  the  more  satisfac 
tory  to  me.  But  I  don't  allow  myself  to  think  of  the  matter  as 
more  than  a  possibility  :  I  am  able  to  possess  my  soul  in  peace, 
and  attend  chiefly  to  my  body. 

TO  JERVIS  MCENTEE. 
CEDARCROFT,  KENNETT  SQUARE,  PA.,  August  4,  1877. 

Yesterday  we  received  your  very  welcome  and  interesting  let 
ter.  Now  that  the  suffering  from  heat  is  passing  from  your 
memory,  I  hope  that  you  have  the  same  abiding  pleasures  of 
memory  as  we  have.  But  I  must  first  tell  you  of  our  remaining 
days  at  the  White  Sulphur.  .  .  . 

Stevensons  took  our  cottage,  and  began  to  move  in  before  we 
got  out.  Altogether,  we  went  off  feeling  satisfied.  It  was  a 
lovely,  cool  evening  ;  we  all  slept  well,  and  woke  up  at  Alexan 
dria.  At  Washington  we  had  a  capital  breakfast,  went  on  to 
Baltimore,  took  a  carriage  and  drove  all  over  Druid  Hill  Park, 
dined,  and  went  home  the  same  afternoon,  the  weather  and 
temperature  being  simply  perfect.  I  was  glad  to  come  away 
from  the  W^hite  Sulphur,  yet  I  feel  that  I  should  like  to  go  there 
again.  Here  we  have  glorious  weather  thus  far  ;  I  never  knew 
finer,  and  never  saw  the  country  looking  so  richly  and  mellowly 
green.  L.  had  her  quiet  birthday  celebration  yesterday.  I  still 
mean  to  get  a  cuke  and  cabbage-cutter  and  send  on  to  your 
mother.  I  find  that  my  appetite  is  undiminished  :  it  seems  that 
the  effect  of  the  sulphur  is  now  coming  for  the  first  time. 

Nothing  has  yet  turned  up  about  the  mission.  I  had  a  letter 
of  good  import  from  Murat  Halstead  after  you  left,  but  I  cannot 
do  anything  except  quietly  wait.  A  secretary  has  been  appointed, 


710  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

the  place  having  been  vacant  for  two  or  three  months,  so  I  sup 
pose  the  appointment  of  a  minister  is  next  in  order.  But  I  am 
trying  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  the  matter.  The  more  time 
elapses,  the  less  the  government  seems  desirous  of  having  my 
services,  and  what  seemed  such  a  fortunate  chance  will  doubtless 
vanish  in  smoke,  —  or  like  smoke.  I  may  be  able  to  say, 
«  What  a  luck  I  missed  !  "  and  that  will  be  the  end. 

CEDARCROFT,  August  7,  1877. 

Go  ahead  with  your  bill  o'  fare,1  but  omit  names  I  It  ought  to 
run  thus  :  — 

SOUP. 
Violincelli. 

FISH. 
Striped  Bassoon,  baked  ;  Cast  o'  Net  Sauce. 

ENTRIES. 

Trombones  of  Beef.  Haut-boiled  Mutton, 

Stewed  Chickerings,  Steinway  Sauce. 
Fiddlet  of  Veal.          Kettle  Drum  Sticks. 

VEGETABLES. 

Green  Cornet.  Tubas,  mashed.  Cymblins. 

Violin  String  Beans. 

DESSERT. 

Flagi  au  lait.          Cabinet  Organ  Pudding.         Mandoline  Tarts. 
Dulcimers. 

WINES. 

Sackbut.         French  Horns. 
They  are  off  for  the  mail.     Good-by  ! 

Bayard  Taylor  returned  with  his  family  to  Cedar- 
croft,  but  shortly  after  went  for  the  sea  air  to  New 
port  and  Mattapoisett,  taking  a  run  also  to  Cohasset 
for  a  day. 

1  Mr.  McEntee  had  asKed  permission  to  give  to  a  local  paper  a  copy  of  a 
jeu  d' esprit  which  had  entertained  the  party  at  the  White  Sulphur. 


fo-dfc    AslstAJL^ 
</^ 

W4- 


r 

/V^yti2^      /U^^^     /t^x^ 
*r\JL~     &j 

•*SJ 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  711 


TO  SIDNEY  LANIER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  September  6, 1877. 

I  found  your  letter  waiting  for  me  on  Monday,  when  my  holi 
day  closed,  and  we  found  ourselves  back  again  in  our  old  quar 
ters.  I  don't  think  the  White  Sulphur  helped  me  much,  after 
all,  but  the  sea  air  and  water  did,  and  I  feel  more  like  my  old 
self  now. 

I  was  (for  me)  exceedingly  nervous  and  restless  while  at 
Cedarcroft,  and  also  much  occupied  with  little  matters  and  family 
changes,  which  made  our  stay  there  anything  but  refreshing. 
Moreover,  I  was  foolishly  expecting,  from  day  to  day,  that  de 
cision  of  the  government  which  has  not  yet  been  made,  and  will 
probably  be  delayed  another  month.  I  am  so  accustomed  to  look 
forward  to  some  fixed  point,  and  work  towards  it,  that  I  hardly 
know  how  to  manage  an  uncertainty  which  includes  two  such 
radically  different  fates.  .  .  .  Since  I  am  at  work  again  I  can 
more  easily  banish  the  subject  from  my  mind.  .  .  .  Strange  that 
you  should  mention  my  poem,  just  when  I  take  it  up  again  !  I 
have  written  one  new  scene  since  Monday.  .  .  . 

The  poem  referred  to  was  "Prince  Deukalion." 
The  long  period  during  which  he  had  laid  aside  the 
poem  was  one  of  drudgery,  of  exhaustion,  and  of  rest, 
but  his  silence  had  not  been  directly  owing  to  these 
causes.  He  had  reached  a  point  in  his  poem  where 
he  hesitated  before  the  problem  of  the  requisite  form 
to  embody  a  critical  thought.  He  could  not  satisfy 
himself,  and  waited  patiently  for  the  cloud  to  lift. 
Suddenly,  early  in  September,  when  on  an  excursion 
in  Boston  Harbor,  the  vision  of  Deukalion  occurred  to 
him;  he  saw  his  way  clear,  and  upon  his  return  to 
New  York  he  threw  himself  with  his  customary  ardor 
into  the  work  of  completing  the  poem,  which  he  now 
wrote  rapidly. 

During  his  visit  to  New  England  he  had  also  ar 
ranged  to  translate  Schiller's  "  Don  Carlos  "  for  Mr. 


712  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Lawrence  Barrett,  the  tragedian.  In  October  he  was 
busy  with  the  delivery,  twice  a  week,  of  his  twelve 
lectures  on  German  Literature,  at  the  Lowell  Institute 
in  Boston,  —  a  course  which  was  exceedingly  popular. 

TO   JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  October  8,  1877. 

Pardon,  pardon,  pardon  !  You  knew  beforehand  that  I  enjoy 
-everything  you  write,  and  that  I  must  be  glad  to  get  your  lovely 
little  volume  ("  Boskage,"  not  Underbrush). 

Now,  it  so  happened  that,  after  having  stuck  fast  for  eighteen 
months  in  the  very  middle  of  my  lyrical  drama,  —  finding  a 
pans  asinorum  I  could  not  cross,  —  I  at  last  kited  a  string  over 
the  chasm,  then  a  rope,  then  a  tough  wire-cable,  the  which,  hav 
ing  become  entangled  in  some  distant  thicket  of  the  imagination, 
sufficed  to  bear  the  weight  of  my  conception.  The  crossing, 
giddy  but  fortunate,  was  made  in  a  basket.  There  was  firm 
ground  beyond,  over  which  I  ran,  breathless,  until,  on  the  top  of 
a  misty  hill,  I  caught  hold  of  the  End  !  This  happened  only 
yesterday,  and  now  the  crowd  of  delayed  duties  rushes  back 
upon  my  conscience. 

First  of  all,  my  hearty  thanks  ;  the  volume  is  charming,  both 
in  bodily  form  and  intellectual  substance.  I  knew  the  most  of  it 
already,  whence  it  was  all  the  more  welcome. 

I  think  I  shall  return  hither  by  night-train  until  after  Novem 
ber  1st,  when  I  shall  spend  the  intermediate  days  in  Boston.  I 
want  to  show  Longfellow  Acts  III.  and  IV. ;  he  has  only  seen 
I.  and  II.  You  twain  have  only  heard  Act  I.,  at  Manchester, 
two  years  ago  ;  would  you  like  to  hear  the  rest,  privatissime  ? 
But  we  '11  talk  of  this  anon. 

TO  SIDNEY  LANIER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  October  13,  1877. 

.  .  .  Scribners  are  going  to  publish  your  poem  on  the  chest 
nut-trees  and  have  it  illustrated  by  me  !  When  I  was  last  at 
Cedarcroft  I  made  the  necessary  sketch  of  the  trees  for  them. 

Now,  I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you.  My  "  Deukalion "  is 
finished  !  The  conception  overcame  me  like  a  summer  cloud, 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  713 

during  all  my  holiday  time ;  but  the  difficulty  wherein  I  stuck  fast 
more  than  a  year  ago  would  not  be  solved.  But,  little  by  little, 
I  worked  out  the  only  possible  solution  —  for  me.  I  finished  the 
third  act,  my  great  stumbling-block  ;  then,  as  the  fourth  and 
last  act  was  already  clear  in  my  mind,  and  I  still  felt  fresh  for 
the  task,  I  went  on.  Now  all  is  complete  and  fairly  copied  into 
that  volume  which  you  will  remember.  But  I  shall  hardly  pub 
lish  before  another  year.  It  is  an  immense  relief,  as  the  delight 
of  writing  was  counterbalanced  by  the  huge  difficulties  of  the 
subject.  Well,  there  's  more  of  my  life  and  thought  and  aspira 
tion  in  this  poem  than  in  all  else  I  have  written,  and  if  it  has  no 
vitality  nothing  of  mine  can  have. 

For  a  week  past  I  have  been  giving  all  my  spare  time  to  a 
translation  and  adaptation  to  our  stage  of  Schiller's  "  Don  Car 
los  "  for  Lawrence  Barrett.  It 's  a  new  sort  of  work  for  me,  very 
interesting,  and  just  what  I  need  in  order  to  let  myself  down 
easily  from  the  heights  of  "  Deukalion." 

You  don't  tell  me  what  you  are  doing  —  or  going  to  do  —  in 
Baltimore.  It's  too  bad  that  the  government  is  so  slow  and 
muddled  in  the  matter  of  making  appointments.  I,  also,  have 
been  kept  hanging  in  suspense  for  over  three  months,  and  now 
find  that  my  chances  are  rapidly  sliding  down  to  nothing.  I  've 
given  up  all  expectation  of  the  place  which  would  help  me  on  in 
my  literary  plans,  and  I  won't  have  any  other. 

I  begin  my  course  of  twelve  lectures  in  Boston  on  Wednesday 
next.  Work,  work,  work  !  but  I  thank  the  Lord  that  my  poem 
is  finished. 

TO  GEORGE   H.   BOKER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  December  29,  1877. 

I  write,  trusting  this  will  catch  you  before  you  leave  St.  Pe 
tersburg.  I  must  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy  for  not  having 
answered  your  last  letter  before  you  wrote  again,  but  I  was 
really  waiting  for  some  solution  of  my  own  case,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  a  chance  that  I  might  be  able  to  learn  a  few  things 
of  interest  to  you,  as  well  as  to  myself,  by  waiting  a  little.  I  was 
mistaken  ;  but  at  least  I  know  how  to  explain  why  you,  as  well 
as  myself,  have  been  so  treated. 

Meanwhile  I  am  working,  I  think,  harder  than  ever  before  in 
my  life.  I  am  staggering  on  the  brink  of  mental  and  physical 
exhaustion.  My  lyrical  drama  —  the  work  of  three  years,  al- 


714  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

though  it  only  contains  three  thousand  lines  —  is  finished.  I  have 
translated,  with  many  changes,  the  greater  part  of  Schiller's 
"  Don  Carlos  "  for  Barrett,  the  actor ;  have  given  my  twelve  lec 
tures  on  German  Literature  before  the  Lowell  Institute  in  Bos 
ton  ;  written  for  the  "  North  American  Review,"  and  I  don't 
know  how  much  else,  beside  my  regular  daily  work  for  the 
"  Tribune."  I  can't  stand  this  strain  longer,  and  so  am  going  to 
Cedarcroft  next  spring,  to  live  simply  and  cheaply,  and  begin  my 
biography  of  Goethe.  I  have  read  the  whole  of  my  new  poem  to 
Longfellow,  who  says  it  is  far  ahead  of  anything  I  have  ever 
done,  and  that  it  is  one  of  the  grandest  conceptions  in  literature. 
I  feel,  indeed,  that  I  am  making  progress  all  the  time.  I  know 
that  my  name,  in  our  literature,  counts  more  than  it  ever  did  be 
fore,  and  am  content  to  go  on  working,  and  get  out  whatever  is 
in  me. 

.  .  .  I  am  glad  you  are  coming  back.  An  American  who  has 
any  interest  whatever  in  his  country  makes  a  fatal  mistake  when 
he  gives  up  his  residence  here  and  stays  in  Europe,  where  he 
never  can  be  wholly  at  home.  I  have  tested  the  two  continents 
pretty  thoroughly,  and  am  satisfied  that  one  is  always  happiest 
where  he  is  best  known,  where  he  knows  most,  and  where  his  in 
terests  are  kept  alive  and  active. 

I  won't  add  any  gossip,  for  there  is  nothing  of  importance  be 
yond  what  you  see  in  the  papers,  and  you  '11  soon  be  here  to 
learn  it  personally.  Then  we  '11  have  a  good  long  talk,  either  at 
1720  Walnut  Street  or  at  Cedarcroft,  and  the  history  of  all  these 
six  years  shall  be  made  clear.  One  thing  I  am  sure  of,  dear  old 
fellow  !  —  we  shall  take  up  the  thread  of  our  divided  lives,  and 
weave  them  together  in  loving  interest,  as  we  have  always  done. 

TO  GORDON  GRANT. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  December  30,  1877. 

...  A  week  ago  I  went  into  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  and  found 
a  nest  of  politicians,  Governor  Jewell,  McCormick,  etc.  They 
pounced  upon  me,  saying  I  must  make  an  effort,  gain  influence, 
etc.,  for  there  was  no  one  asking  for  the  place.  They  also  told 
me  that  Fred.  Seward  was  exceedingly  desirous  of  my  appoint 
ment  ;  that  Sclmrz  had  declared  he  could  not,  in  any  case,  go  to 
Germany,  and  added  all  sorts  of  persuasions.  I  answered  that  I 
was  now  satisfied  that  the  nominations  were  made  by  whim  j  that 


PRINCE  DE  UK  A  LION.  715 

the  government  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  my  fitness 
(or  unfitness)  for  the  place  ;  that  the  published  rumors  already 
proved  the  favor  of  the  entire  American  press  ;  and  that  I  would 
not,  personally,  do  anything  but  wait  for  the  decision  of  the 
government.  I  then  made  a  call  of  respect  upon  Hayes,  who 
was  in  the  hotel  ;  he  was  extremely  cordial,  and  seemed  to  ex 
pect  that  I  should  say  something,  but  I  did  not.  So  the  matter 
stands.  .  .  . 

I  have  never  before  in  my  life  done  so  much  work  in  four 
months  as  during  the  last  four.  In  fact,  I  have  done  far  too 
much,  and  have  brought  myself  to  the  verge  of  some  physical 
disaster.  Nothing  but  plenty  of  sleep  and  heavenly  weather 
have  pulled  me  safely  through  the  crisis.  We  have  a  purely 
Roman  winter,  thus  far  ;  until  to-day,  the  greenest  turf,  dande 
lions  in  blossom,  cloudless  skies,  and  an  air  to  breathe  which  cre 
ates  a  new  life  every  day.  This  morning  the  temperature  fell  to 
21°  for  the  first  time,  —  but  what  a  day  !  And  how  the  perfect 
days  succeed  each  other  !  I  have  fire  in  my  library  only  about 
twice  a  week.  New  York  Bay  is  as  smooth  and  deep  blue  as 
your  Mediterranean  at  Leghorn.  .  .  .  Of  course,  all  this  work 
tells  (or  will  tell)  for  me,  but  it  also  tells  upon  me.  But  the  best 
rest,  as  I  hinted  to  President  Hayes  the  other  day,  comes  not 
from  indolence,  but  entire  change  of  occupation.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  understood  the  hint ;  probably  not. 

I  have  left  some  of  your  questions  unanswered,  and  can  send 
you,  at  best,  but  a  hasty,  unsatisfactory  letter  in  reply  to  your 
many  interesting  messages.  You  must  have  patience  with  me. 
1  do  the  best  I  can  now,  and  will  do  better  when  I  get  back 
some  of  my  old  vigor. 

It  had  been  Bayard  Taylor's  purpose  to  keep 
"  Prince  Deukalion  "  by  him  for  possible  further  re 
vision,  but  when  the  drama  was  completed  it  became, 
like  other  of  his  works,  a  thing  of  the.  past,  to  be  put 
aside,  dismissed,  and  made  to  give  way  in  his  thought 
to  other  designs.  He  rarely  lingered  over  the  accom 
plished  task ;  its  completion  only  left  him  free  for  the 
new  purposes  which  had  already  risen  in  his  mind. 
He  was  hastened,  beside,  in  his  intention  to  publish 


716  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

by  the  discovery,  after  his  poem  was  written,  of  two 
poems,  an  English  and  a  German,  which  so  nearly  ap 
proached  it  in  design  as  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
in  a  wide  current  of  thought,  and  that  unless  he  pub 
lished  now  he  was  in  danger  of  finding  his  work  re 
ceived  as  if  it  were  a  follower  instead  of  an  avant- 
courier.  "  Prince  Deukalion  "  was,  beyond  all  this,  so 
distinctly  a  confession  of  the  author's  faith  that  in  this 
earnest  hour  of  his  life  he  felt  a  strong  man's  desire  to 
declare  emphatically  how  he  stood  in  relation  to  the 
great  question  of  being.  Something  in  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Hayne  drew  from  Bayard  Taylor  a  response  in 
which  he  spoke  with  less  reserve  than  he  was  wont. 

"As  to  what  seems  to  be  your  most  important  ques 
tion,"  he  writes,  "  I  will  be  frank,  with  the  understand 
ing  that  this  is  confidential.  A  man's  faith  is  a  sacred 
part  of  his  nature,  with  which  the  public  has  no  concern, 
and  I  resist  all  open  attempts  to  make  me  reveal  mine. 
I  do  most  entirely  believe  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul.  And  perhaps  I  cannot  better  sum  up  my  argu 
ments  than  by  intrusting  you  with  some  lines  from  an 
unpublished  poem,  which  I  have  just  finished  after 
three  years  of  study  and  severe  consecration.  Urania 
(Science)  asks, — 

Yet  why,  to  flatter  life,  wilt  thou  repeat 
The  unproven  solace  ?  1 

The  answer  is :  — 

Proven  by  its  need  !  — 
By  fates  so  large  no  fortune  can  fulfill  ; 
By  wrong  no  earthly  justice  can  atone  ; 
By  promises  of  love  that  keep  love  pure  ; 
And  all  rich  instincts  powerless  of  aim, 
Save  chance,  and  time,  and  aspiration  wed 
1  The  immortality  of  the  soul. 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  717 

To  freer  forces,  follow  !     By  the  trust 
Of  the  chilled  Good  that  at  life's  very  end 
Puts  forth  a  root,  and  feels  its  blossom  sure  ! 
Yea,  by  thy  law  ! l  —  since  every  being  holds 
Its  final  purpose  in  the  primal  cell, 
And  here  the  radiant  destiny  o'erflows 
Its  visible  bounds,  enlarges  what  it  took 
From  sources  past  discovery,  and  predicts 
No  end,  or,  if  an  end,  the  end  of  all ! 

Do  not  let  these  lines  go  out  of  your  hands !  The  very 
wisdom  and  wonder  of  the  universe  and  its  laws  prove 
conclusively  to  me  that  the  intuitions  of  power  and 
knowledge  in  ourselves,  which  we  cannot  fulfill  here, 
assure  us  of  continued  being.  If  those  laws  are  good, 
—  as  we  see  they  are,  —  then  what  is  ordered  for  us  is 
also  good.  We  need  not  too  painfully  go  into  conjunc 
tures  of  details.  True  harmony  between  natures  in 
this  life  certainly  predicts  continuance  in  the  next; 
but  how  or  in  what  manner  it  shall  be  continued  is 
beyond  us,  and  I  have  not  felt  the  least  fear.  I  feel 
none  now.  I  can  conceive  the  Infinite  much  more 
easily  than  I  can  the  Finite ;  I  know  (but  I  cannot 
demonstrate)  that  my  being  cannot  be  annihilated. 
This  feeling  is  in  accordance  with  all  that  science 
teaches  me  ;  if  I  depended  on  theology  alone  I  should 
have  little  comfort.  If  the  Divine  Law  manifest  in 
matter  be  good,  we  shall  live  on,  —  we  must ;  if  there 
is  no  future  for  me,  a  Devil,  and  not  a  God,  governs 
the  universe.  Dixi !  " 

1  The  law  of  Science. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
MINISTER  TO   GERMANY. 

1878. 

Slow-paced  is  Fate : 
All  crowns  come  late. 

Prince  Deukalion. 

THE  action  of  the  government  regarding  the  mis 
sion  to  Germany  was  still  deferred.  The  delay  was 
annoying,  for  it  was  impossible  to  work  or  plan  freely 
with  such  a  decision  still  impending.  But  so  far  as 
Bayard  Taylor's  purpose  of  literary  work  was  con 
cerned,  there  was  no  uncertainty.  He  had  determined 
to  enter  earnestly  upon  his  life  of  Goethe  and  Schil 
ler.  It  pressed  upon  him.  He  had  cleared  away  the 
dramatic  poem  which  stood  between  him  and  this  task, 
and  when  once  he  entered  upon  a  great  design  he  was 
driven  by  his  mental  necessity  to  carry  it  to  comple 
tion,  whatever  the  obstacles. 

Yet  he  was  almost  in  despair  of  securing  the  requi 
site  leisure  for  this  great  work.  The  pressure  of  daily 
labor  upon  him  was  very  great,  and  if  he  continued 
in  America,  engaged  upon  editorial  work,  he  foresaw 
the  extreme  difficulty  of  organizing  time  for  his  task. 
Moreover,  the  longer  he  delayed  the  more  insecure  did 
the  wealth  of  material  which  he  had  accumulated  ap 
pear  to  him.  For  this  material  was  stored  principally 
in  his  capacious  memory ;  and  confident  as  he  ordina 
rily  was  of  his  power  to  hold  firmly  what  he  intrusted 


MINISTER   TO  GERMANY.  719 

to  it,  he  began  now  to  doubt  if  this  treasury  might  not 
be  rendered  less  impregnable  by  the  countless  cares 
and  anxieties  which  were  undermining  it. 

Hermann  Grimm's  "  Goethe  "  had  recently  appeared, 
and  was  so  near  in  its  scheme  to  his  own  design  as  to 
make  him  more  eager  than  ever  to  achieve  his  pur 
pose.  If  he  went  to  Germany  he  would  unquestion 
ably  have  special  advantages  for  doing  the  work.  If 
he  did  not  go  he  meant  to  cut  himself  off  from  all 
other  life,  bury  himself  in  Cedarcroft,  and  not  emerge 
until  the  book  was  done. 

He  completed  his  translation  and  adaptation  of 
"Don  Carlos,"  and  wrote  an  ode  on  the  death  of  Vic 
tor  Emmanuel,  which  was  published  in  the  "Tribune" 
under  the  title  of  "  The  Obsequies  in  Rome,"  and  is 
included  thus  in  the  collection  of  his  poems  made  since 
his  death.  In  this  ode  he  gave  expression  to  that  ar 
dent  love  of  Italy  which  had  been  one  of  his  early  pas 
sions,  never  to  grow  weak,  and  renewed  both  by  his 
own  life  in  Italy  and  by  the  historic  movements  of 
that  nation,  which  drew  forth  his  eager  interest.  It 
was  in  the  same  spirit  that  he  took  part  in  the  memo 
rial  meeting  held  by  the  Italians  in  New  York,  and 
gave  a  short  address  in  the  Italian  language,  upon  the 
spur  of  the  moment. 

TO   SIDNEY  LANIER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  January  20,  1878. 

...  I  have  finished  (but  not  yet  revised)  Schiller's  "  Don 
Carlos  "  since  I  saw  you,  and  have  done  a  good  deal  of  magazine 
work.  My  only  poem  is  the  Ode  on  Victor  Emmanuel,  which 
you  may  have  seen.  .  .  .  For  the  last  few  days  I  have  been  writ 
ing  as  little  as  possible,  in  order  to  rest,  having  been  troubled 
with  a  sense  of  great  oppression  on  the  chest.  The  fact  is,  I 
must  take  more  rest  than  I  have  been  doing. 

VOL.  ii.  20 


720  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Speaking  of  this,  the  prospect  of  a  good  rest  abroad  is  still 
held  out  to  me  ;  but  after  such  long  uncertainty  I  dare  not  count 
upon  it  in  the  least.  I  learn  that  the  President  favors  my  ap 
pointment,  and  -  -  says  nothing  against  it  :  still  they  don't 
make  it,  and  the  post  has  been  vacant  nearly  six  months.  I 
think  a  decision  of  some  kind  will  be  made  in  a  few  weeks. 
During  the  fall,  when  I  gave  up  all  expectation  of  going,  I  was 
happy,  and  I  would  withdraw  my  name  now  rather  than  be  so 
unsettled  but  for  the  great  chance  of  the  Goethe  work. 

.  .  .  Friends  come  in  now  and  then  and  keep  us  cheerful.  I 
can  feel  that  I  am  steadily  gaining  in  various  ways,  and  am  hope 
ful  of  the  future.  Keep  up  your  spirits  also,  but  I  think  you 
have  the  blessing  of  a  good  natural  stock  of  them. 

At  last,  late  in  the  evening  of  February  15th,  a  dis 
patch  was  brought  to  Bayard  Taylor  from  the  Trib 
une  office,  where  it  had  just  been  received  from  Wash 
ington,  announcing  that  the  President  had  sent  in  his 
name  to  the  Senate  as  Minister  to  Germany.  The 
news  was  in  the  morning  papers  the  next  day,  and  im 
mediately  there  began  a  series  of  dispatches,  letters, 
visits,  receptions,  and  dinners  which  knew  no  cessa 
tion  until  Bayard  Taylor  sailed,  April  llth.  If  ever 
a  nomination  was  ratified  by  the  people,  it  was  this. 
The  newspaper  press,  quick  to  act  as  spokesman  of  the 
popular  mind,  was  nearly  unanimous  in  its  emphatic 
praise  of  the  appointment.  Strong  political  antipathy, 
displayed  still  in  a  few  instances,  was  generally  laid 
aside  in  recognition  of  the  fitness  of  the  nomination. 
Something,  no  doubt,  was  due  to  the  esprit  de  COTJPS 
which  made  the  newspapers  proud  to  be  thus  repre 
sented  by  one  of  their  own  number,  but  the  varied 
forms  of  expression  of  pleasure  all  centred  in  a  hearty 
indorsement  of  the  President's  action,  and  a  strong 
sense  of  satisfaction  that  the  administration  had  done 
what  the  country  demanded  in  appointing  to  a  first- 
class  mission  a  man  who  had  won  the  place  by  his 


MINISTER    TO   GERMANY.  721 

eminent  adaptation  to  it.  The  German  press,  also,  at 
once  welcomed  in  anticipation  the  new  minister,  for  he 
was  no  stranger  to  them. 

All  this  demonstration  made  a  profound  impression 
upon  Bayard  Taylor.  It  was  an  evidence  of  good-will 
toward  him  which  came  when  he  was  worn  in  health 
and  spirits,  ready  to  despair  of  accomplishing  the  work 
which  he  had  in  mind  and  almost  ready  to  think  his 
life  a  failure.  It  acted  upon  his  impaired  nature  as 
a  powerful  stimulus,  and  enabled  him  to  undergo 
a  strain  which  otherwise  he  could  not  have  borne. 
There  was  much  cheap  witticism  in  the  papers  upon 
the  dinners  which  Bayard  Taylor  ate  as  preparation 
for  his  work  as  Minister  Plenipotentiary  ;  but  Bayard 
Taylor  himself  was  profoundly  sensitive  to  popular 
recognition.  When  any  one  told  him  he  loved  him, 
or  loved  his  poetry,  his  heart  responded  instantly ;  and 
when  various  nationalities  through  their  clubs,  his  as 
sociates  through  their  public  receptions  and  dinners, 
and  hosts  of  friends  in  more  private  ways,  testified  to 
their  hearty  pleasure  in  his  appointment,  it  was  not  in 
him  to  withhold  response  to  any,  great  or  small.  He 
was  amazed  at  the  fullness  and  spontaneity  of  expres 
sion,  but  he  was  solemnized  by  it  also.  It  swept  him 
off  his  feet  at  first ;  then  it  gave  him  a  profound  sense 
of  the  debt  which  he  owed,  —  a  debt  to  be  paid  only 
by  the  most  complete  service. 

TO   SAMUEL   BANCROFT,   JR. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 
NEW  YORK,  Sunday,  February  17,  1878. 

Croasdale  sent  me  my  first  telegraphic  congratulation  yester 
day,  though  many  others  followed  it.  I  am  amazed,  yet  moved 
and  made  solemnly  happy,  by  the  outburst  (I  can't  call  it  any 
thing  else)  of  good-will  which  the  appointment  has  produced. 
The  press,  without  exception,  so  far  —  everybody  here,  Demo- 


722  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

crats  as  well  as  Republicans  —  seems  to  be  delighted.  Even 
strangers  stopped  me  in  the  street  yesterday  to  shake  hands. 
At  the  Century  last  night  they  at  once  proposed  a  dinner  to  me  ; 
but  so  many  responded  that  they  now  think  of  having  two  !  Bry 
ant  himself  wrote  that  delightful  notice  in  yesterday's  "  Post." 

Both  Bryant  and  Reid  say  that  the  confirmation  is  sure,  and  I 
can't  help  thinking  so,  too.  ...  I  hope  the  action  will  come  soon, 
because  I  want  to  arrange  with  the  government  about  my  time 
of  leaving.  One  month  is  always  allowed,  but  if  I  can  get  six 
weeks  (till  April  1st)  it  will  save  me  much  condensed  labor. 

Luckily,  "  Don  Carlos  "  is  finished,  and  there  is  now  nothing 
between  me  and  Goethe  !  The  appointment  came  after  all  as  a 
great  surprise.  I  had  it  by  telegraph  at  ten  p.  M.,  on  Friday, 
and  it  rather  spoiled  M.'s  sleep  and  mine.  But  how  glad  I  am 
that  I  have  kept  quiet  all  this  time  ! 

TO  GEORGE   H.   YEWELL. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  February  17,  1878. 

Impose  upon  me  any  penance  you  please,  and  I  will  endure  it ! 
You  have  simply  heaped  coals  of  fire,  if  not  melted  brimstone, 
on  my  head  by  your  second  letter,  after  my  long  neglect  in  an 
swering  your  first.  I  have  no  excuse  to  offer.  I  ought  to  have 
made  time  for  you  ;  and  yet,  when  I  look  back,  I  find  myself 
somehow  pitying  myself  for  all  the  load  of  labor  heaped  upon 
me,  and  finally  performed.  The  fact  is  that  during  the  past 
three  years  I  have  done  fully  as  much  as  in  any  previous  six  or 
eight  years  of  my  life.  I  have  had  no  single  day,  no  hour,  I 
could  rightfully  call  my  own  ;  and  some  of  my  severest  duties 
were  just  those  which  gave  me  honor,  but  nothing  else.  My 
former  income  is  wholly  suspended  in  these  disastrous  times  ; 
practically  I  am  penniless,  and  must  earn  every  dollar  I  spend. 
With  L.'s  education,  a  heavy  life  insurance  (but  now  only 
one  more  payment  to  make  !),  help  for  my  parents,  indirect 
claims  of  all  kinds,  and  the  necessity  of  entertaining  many 
friends,  you  may  easily  guess  what  my  life  has  been.  My  poetry 
during  this  time  has  been  stolen  from  night  and  sleep.  I  have 
been  several  times  on  the  point  of  giving  up  from  sheer  phys 
ical  inability.  When  your  second  letter  came  I  was  under  one  of 
these  pressures,  and  was  forced  to  ask  Loop  to  try  and  explain 
the  matter  to  you,  since  I  could  not  possibly  have  written  then. 


MINISTER   TO   GERMANY.  723 

Yesterday  morning  daylight  came,  and  I  am  relieved  from  all 
necessity  of  work  (except  my  own  cherished  literary  labor)  for 
three  years  to  come.  After  I  had  given  up  all  expectation  of 
it,  the  President  suddenly  appointed  me  Minister  to  Germany. 
The  way  in  which  the  appointment  has  been  received  almost 
weighs  me  down  with  amazement  and  gratitude.  There  is  one 
outburst  of  satisfaction  from  press  and  people.  Yesterday  I 
swam  in  congratulations,  even  strangers  stopping  me  in  the 
street,  and  the  Century  Club  was  like  a  jubilee.  We  must  now 
prepare  to  leave  in  four  or  five  weeks,  and  shall  be  in  Berlin 
early  in  April.  Can't  we  meet  before  you  return  ?  I  write  at 
once,  to  atone  in  some  measure  for  my  long  silence.  .  .  . 

TO    SIDNEY   LANIER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  February  19,  1878. 

There  's  a  rewarding  as  well  as  an  avenging  fate  !  What  a 
payment  for  all  my  years  of  patient  and  unrecognized  labor ! 
But  you  know  just  what  the  appointment  is  to  me.  It  came  as 
a  surprise,  after  all,  and  a  greater  amazement  is  the  wonderful, 
generous  response  to  it  from  friends  and  people.  I  feel  as  if 
buried  under  a  huge  warm  wave  of  congratulation.  .  .  . 

TO  PAUL  H.   HAYNE. 

NEW  YORK,  February  24,  1878. 

When  I  tell  you  that  I  have  written  one  hundred  and  fifty  let 
ters  since  last  Sunday,  you  will  understand  how  tired  I  am  of 
pen  and  ink.  You  have  no  doubt  heard  by  this  time  of  my  ap 
pointment  to  Germany.  It  has  brought  upon  me  such  a  flood  of 
congratulation  as  atones  for  all  previous  struggles,  and  precludes 
me  from  ever  again  complaining  of  Fate.  The  office  will  be 
of  incalculable  advantage  to  me  in  writing  my  "  Biography  of 
Goethe,"  and  thus  comes  as  a  wonderful  good  fortune.  We  must 
leave  in  four  or  five  weeks  ;  that  is,  should  the  Senate  confirm 
the  appointment.  I  hear,  however,  that  this  is  certain,  every 
Southern  senator  being  favorable.  At  last  I  see  some  of  my 
life's  best  work  standing  before  me  ! 


724  BA YARD   TAYLOR. 


TO  GEORGE   H.    BOKER. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  February  25,  1878. 

It  was  a  delight  to  me  to  see  your  hand  on  an  envelope  again. 
I  could  only  write  very  hastily,  and  cannot  write  at  length  now. 
There  are  so  many  things  which  one  would  rather  say  than 
write  !  and  it  will  take  an  evening  for  us  to  exchange  experi 
ences  and  halance  the  books  of  memory  and  anticipation. 

My  nomination  comes  as  a  great  surprise,  the  reason  whereof 
and  the  whole  history  of  the  matter  I  '11  tell  you  when  we  meet. 
But  it  is  not  too  late  for  what  I  want,  nor  shall  I  be  thwarted  in 
my  main  design.  I  know  the  force  of  all  you  say  in  regard  to 
diplomatic  duties  ;  but  I  have  had  a  severe  discipline  during  the 
past  five  or  six  years,  and  know  thoroughly  how  to  secure  my 
time,  that  is,  my  literary  activity.  I  wanted  the  place  solely  for 
this  end,  and  I  will  not  lose  it,  neither  will  I  neglect  or  slur 
over  any  legitimate  duty.  ...  It  seems  almost  like  too  much 
good  fortune,  but  I  must  earn  the  right  to  it  by  steady,  consci 
entious  work.  A  month  ago  I  was  on  the  point  of  breaking 
down,  overworked  and  discouraged  ;  now  I  am  strong  and  full 
of  hope.  Thanks  for  your  land  words. 

TO  MR.   AND  MRS.   JAMES   T.   FIELDS. 

February  25,  1878. 

M.  joins  me  in  hearty  thanks  for  your  kind  words.  You  al 
ready  know  what  the  appointment  means  to  me,  and  how  I  shall 
use  its  advantages.  The  true  honor  connected  with  it  lies  in 
the  generous,  overwhelming  reception  which  follows  it.  This  is 
really  something  to  stir  up  the  Eumenides  ;  but  I  mean  to  miti 
gate  their  wrath  by  doing  my  best  work.  How  much  we  shall 
lose  by  going  !  yet  how  much  also  shall  we  not  gam !  Come 
over  while  we  are  away  and  cheer  our  exile  ! 

The  criticism  was  made  by  some  that  the  United 
States  was  sending  one  of  its  scholars  on  a  diplomatic 
mission  in  order  to  enable  him  to  complete  a  literary 
design,  and  people  generally  showed  a  very  lively  in 
terest  in  what  was,  as  has  already  been  shown,  the  im 
pelling  motive  which  led  Bayard  Taylor  to  desire  the 


MINISTER   TO  GERMANY.  725 

appointment.  His  own  comment  upon  the  matter, 
when  addressing  the  Goethe  Club  at  the  reception 
given  him,  sets  it  in  a  clear  light. 

"  The  fact,"  he  said,  "  that  for  years  past  I  have 
designed  writing  a  new  biography  of  the  great  Ger 
man  master  is  generally  known ;  there  was  no  neces 
sity  for  keeping  it  secret ;  it  has  been  specially  men 
tioned  by  the  press  since  my  appointment,  and  I  need 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  the  favor  of  our  government 
will  give  me  important  facilities  in  the  prosecution  of 
the  work.  But  the  question  has  also  been  asked  here 
and  there,  and  very  naturally,  Is  a  minister  to  a  for 
eign  court  to  be  appointed  for  such  a  purpose?  I 
answer  No !  The  minister's  duty  to  his  government 
and  to  the  interests  of  his  fellow-citizens  is  always 
paramount.  I  shall  go  to  Berlin  with  the  full  under 
standing  of  the  character  of  the  services  I  am  ex 
pected  to  render,  and  the  honest  determination  to  ful 
fill  them  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  But,  as  my  friends 
know,  I  have  the  power  and  the  habit  of  doing  a  great 
deal  of  work ;  and  I  think  no  one  will  complain  if, 
instead  of  the  recreation  which  others  allow  them 
selves,  I  should  find  my  own  recreation  in  another 
form  of  labor.  I  hope  to  secure  at  least  two  hours 
out  of  each  twenty-four  for  my  own  work,  without 
detriment  to  my  official  duties,  and  if  two  hours  are 
not  practicable  one  must  suffice.  I  shall  be  in  the 
midst  of  the  material  I  most  need,  shall  be  able  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  men  and  women  who 
can  give  me  the  best  assistance,  and,'  without  looking 
forward  positively  to  the  completion  of  the  task,  I  may 
safely  say  that  this  opportunity  gives  me  a  cheerful 
hope  of  being  able  to  complete  it." 

At  the  Century  Club  a  breakfast  was  given  which 


726  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

brought  around  Bayard  Taylor  the  men  with  whom 
he  associated  most  intimately,  on  the  score  of  common 
interests  and  tastes  in  literature  and  art.  "  The  good- 
fellowship  of  the  Century,"  wrote  Mr.  Curtis  in  one 
of  his  Easy-Chair  papers,  when  speaking  of  this  break 
fast,  "  is  famous  and  traditional,  and  the  breakfast  to 
Mr.  Taylor  assembled  some  sixty  Centurions,  with  Mr. 
Bryant  at  their  head,  to  congratulate  Brother  Bayard 
on  the  honors  which  had  naturally  fallen  upon  an  as 
sociate.  There  were,  besides  Mr.  Bryant,  three  or 
four  of  the  original  members,  the  patriarchs,  the  fa 
thers,  the  founders,  of  the  Century,  who  had  been 
members  of  the  old  Sketch  Club,  from  which  it  grew, 
and  whose  presence  gives  the  Century  the  true  royal 
flavor,  like  the  lump  of  ambergris  in  the  Sultan's 
cup." 

TO  E.   C.   STEDMAN. 

March  6,  1878,  9  P.  M. 

I  had  a  talk  with  Evarts  last  night.  He  grants  me  a  month, 
which  enables  us  to  take  passage  with  our  good  old  Captain 
Schwensen,  commodore  of  the  Hamburg  line,  April  llth.  It 
will  be,  in  every  way,  more  convenient  and  agreeable  to  me  if 
the  dinnar 1  comes  late,  —  say  the  first  week  in  April,  any  day 
except  Saturday.  W.  and  S.  showed  me  the  letter,  which  is 
simply  perfect  in  expression  :  I  could  not  wish  an  additional 
word,  or  a  word  changed.  But  I  pray  you,  dear  old  friend, 
don't  add  this  burden  to  those  you  stagger  under.  Consider 
that  I  have  already  had  enough  to  make  any  author  satisfied 
with  Fate  for  a  long  life  ;  and  more  is  not  needed.  Since  the 
honor  is  decreed  (and  irrevocably,  as  it  seems),  I  must  gratefully 
take  it ;  but  I  assure  you  that  I  bear  constantly  in  mind  the 
fact  that  it  may,  or  .at  least  should,  exalt  our  art  in  the  eyes  of 
our  una3sthetic  countrymen,  and  thus  indirectly  be  a  help  and  an 
honor  to  all  of  our  guild. 

There  is  something  astounding  to  me  in  the  response  to  my 
nomination.  I  cannot  yet  rightly  apprehend  it ;  and  I  am  at  the 

1  The  public  dinner  at  Delmonico's,  in  the  arrangements  for  which  Mr. 
Stedman  had  a  conspicuous  share. 


MINISTER   TO   GERMANY.  727 

point  of  being  frightened  rather  than  flattered.  I  think  you  will 
understand  this  feeling,  and  perhaps  you  may  also  measure, 
through  your  own  inborn  nobility  of  nature,  the  character  of  a 
gratitude  which  I  cannot  express  in  words.  I  don't  thank  you, 
for  that  seems  commonplace,  but  you  know  how  gratefully  I  am 
ever  affectionately  your  friend. 

TO  T.   B.   ALDRICH. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  March  10,  1878. 

I  returned  from  Washington  this  morning,  and  find  your  let 
ter.  The  appointment  came,  at  last,  as  a  surprise,  but  a  most 
welcome  one  ;  for  it  enables  me  to  write  my  life  of  Goethe. 
How  could  you  suppose  that  I  would  not  accept  it  with  that  in 
view  ?  It  comes  providentially,  also,  to  save  me  from  break 
ing  down  physically  ;  and  I  am  already  beginning  to  feel  like 
another  man. 

We  sail  about  April  llth,  but  must  spend  ten  days  at  Cedar- 
croft  in  the  interim,  I  must  go  to  Washington  again,  and  I  have 
to  get  through  with  six  dinners  and  receptions  of  a  large  kind, 
here  and  in  Philadelphia.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  chances  of 
going  to  Boston  are  growing  faint.  We  begin  packing  up  to 
morrow,  and  my  duties  are  almost  alarming.  In  three  weeks  I 
have  written  more  than  two  hundred  answers  to  letters  of  con 
gratulation,  and  the  visits,  from  morning  till  night,  interrupt 
us.  The  German  minister  gave  me  a  dinner  in  Washington  last 
night  (with  Evarts,  Bancroft,  Schurz,  etc.),  and  I  was  forced  to 
rush  away  at  9.30  for  the  night  express.  This  is  our  last  Sun 
day  evening,  and  a  crowd  is  coming.  To-morrow  evening  the 
Union  League  of  Philadelphia  has  invited  me  ;  on  Saturday  the 
Century  Club  gives  a  breakfast,  —  and  so  the  thing  goes  on.  It 
is  all  amazing  and  overwhelming,  and  I  shall  have  no  sense  of 
rest  until  I  get  outside  of  Sandy  Hook.  I  'm  afraid  M.  will  be 
laid  up,  although  she  holds  out  bravely  thus  far.  .  .  . 

TO  PAUL  H.   HAYNE. 

142  EAST  EIGHTEENTH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK,  March  13, 1878. 

.  .  .  As  for  myself,  I  ain  simply  overwhelmed  by  a  burst  of 
generous  good-will,  the  force  of  which  I  never  could  have  sus 
pected.  Every  evening  until  we  sail  is  preengaged  for  din- 


728  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

ners  and  receptions,  mostly  by  clubs  and  associations  of  promi 
nent  men,  here  and  in  Pennsylvania.  It  is  something  so  amazing 
for  an  author  to  receive  that  I  am  more  bewildered  and  embar 
rassed  than  proud  of  the  honors.  If  you  knew  how  many  years 
I  have  steadily  worked,  devoted  to  a  high  ideal,  which  no  one 
seemed  to  recognize,  and  sneered  at  by  cheap  critics  as  a  mere 
interloper  in  literature,  you  would  understand  how  incredible 
this  change  seems  to  me.  The  great  comfort  is  this  :  I  was  right 
in  my  instinct.  The  world  does  appreciate  earnest  endeavor,  in 
the  end.  I  have  always  had  faith,  and  I  have  learned  to  over 
look  opposition,  disparagement,  misconception  of  my  best  work, 
believing  that  the  day  of  justification  would  come.  But  what 
now  comes  to  me  seems  too  much.  I  can  only  accept  it  as  a  bal 
ance  against  me,  to  be  met  by  still  better  work  in  the  future. 

The  cordiality  of  his  neighbors  and  friends  was  to 
Bayard  Taylor  one  of  the  most  agreeable  features 
of  that  general  acclamation  which  greeted  him.  As 
before,  when  he  returned  from  Europe,  he  had  felt 
deeply  the  spontaneous  welcome  given  him  near  his 
home,  so  now  he  was  moved  by  the  hasty  but  abun 
dant  demonstration  at  Kennett  Square  which  came 
upon  the  sudden  news  that  he  was  to  pass  through 
the  village  on  his  way  to  Cedarcroft.  This  festivity, 
which  was  every  way  successful,  was  unlike  anything 
ever  before  seen  in  Kennett.  The  town  seemed  to 
have  laid  aside  its  traditional  Quaker  garb,  and  to 
have  come  out  in  the  dress  of  the  day.  Again  he  re 
ceived  a  public  dinner  at  West  Chester,  where  the 
county  which  he  had  not  only  glorified,  but  written  of 
with  candor  and  faithfulness  to  nature,  showed  with  un 
mistakable  signs  that  it  was  proud  of  its  member,  and 
knew  his  sincere  attachment  to  the  place  of  his  birth. 

The  dinner  at  Delmonico's  was  more  formal  than 
the  other  occasions,  and  was  made  the  opportunity  for 
a  recognition  by  all  the  great  classes  in  the  community 
of  the  public  services  of  a  man  who  had  been  conspic- 


MINISTER   TO   GERMANY.  729 

uous,  not  by  reason  of  the  favors  which  he  had  shown 
political  followers,  nor  of  the  skill  by  which  he  had 
achieved  political  position,  but  by  reason  of  the  stead 
fast  devotion  to  a  line  of  work  which  had  a  legitimate 
crown  in  the  end  now  attained.  The  letters  of  invita 
tion  and  acceptance  were  as  follows :  — 

NEW  YORK,  March  19,  1878. 

HON.  BAYARD  TAYLOR,  UNITED  STATES  MINISTER  TO  GER 
MANY  :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  Your  fellow-citizens,  without  distinction  of  party, 
have  been  prompt  to  acknowledge  the  eminent  fitness  of  your 
appointment  as  the  representative  of  this  nation  at  the  court  of 
Berlin.  They  feel  that  their  government  has  acted  most  wor 
thily  in  thus  designating  for  important  service  an  American  whose 
purity  of  life  and  character  is  in  keeping  with  his  reputation  as  a 
scholar,  writer,  and  observer  of  affairs. 

In  recognition  of  these  facts,  and  as  a  mark  of  our  personal  af 
fection  and  esteem,  we  invite  you  to  accept  a  public  dinner  before 
your  departure  for  that  country  which  has  already  extended  to 
you  a  welcome,  with  which  you  are  connected  by  the  closest  ties, 
and  with  whose  politics  and  literature  you  are  so  familiar.  Re 
questing  you  to  name  a  day  that  will  suit  your  convenience,  we 
have  the  honor  to  be 

Your  friends  and  obedient  servants, 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT  [and  others]. 

REPLY. 

GENTLEMEN,  —  The  honor  you  extend  to  me  is  such  a  rare 
representation  of  the  highest  intellectual  and  material  interests  of 
this  great  city,  coming,  as  it  does,  from  gentlemen  distinguished 
in  every  art  and  profession,  that  I  should  shrink  from  seeming 
to  merit  it  by  acceptance,  were  it  not  accompanied  by  such  gen 
erous  expressions  of  personal  regard.  Your  kindness  leaves  me 
no  alternative  ;  but  you  will  allow  me  to  accept  the  distinction  of 
a  public  dinner  as  a  new  obligation  laid  upon  me  for  the  future, 
rather  than  as  having  been  earned  by  any  service  in  the  past. 

I  suggest  Thursday,  the  4th  of  April,  the  last  convenient  day 
before  my  departure,  and  remain,  with  sentiments  of  the  pro- 
foundest  gratitude  and  esteem, 

Your  friend  and  servant,  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


730  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Mr.  Bryant  presided  at  the  dinner,  and  literature, 
art,  the  learned  professions,  and  commerce  were  repre 
sented  in  the  persons  of  the  guests,  and  by  the  short 
addresses  which  followed  the  dinner.  Besides  the 
abundant  flowers  and  plants  which  filled  the  hall,  there 
were  upon  the  tables  ingenious  decorations  in  confec 
tionery,  representing  scenes  from  "  Lars,"  the  "  Bedouin 
Song,"  "The  Old  Pennsylvania  Farmer,"  "The  Qua 
ker  Widow,"  and  "The  Song  of  the  Camp."  Bayard 
Taylor's  address  was  as  follows :  — 

"MR.  CHAIRMAN  AND  GENTLEMEN, — You  will  par 
don  me  for  saying  that  the  magnitude  of  the  honor  you 
confer  upon  me  increases,  in  the  same  proportion,  the 
test  of  my  capacity  to  deserve  it.  I  am  confronted, 
before  leaving  home,  by  the  most  difficult  of  all  diplo 
matic  tasks.  If  I  should  try  to  express  what  I  feel 
on  being  thus  accepted  as  a  member  of  that  illustrious 
company,  which  begins  with  Homer  and  counts  Bryant 
among  its  noble  masters,  I  might  displease  the  politi 
cians  ;  if  I  dwell  too  much  on  the  official  honor  which 
you  all  welcome,  to-night,  I  may  fail  to  satisfy  my  lit 
erary  brethren.  I  can  only  say  that  the  beam  is  level, 
because  each  scale  is  filled  and  heaped  with  all  that  it 
can  hold.  But  you  are  too  frank  and  generous  for 
diplomacy,  and  I  dare  not  use  the  dialect  of  diplomacy 
in  responding.  Let  me  be  equally  frank,  and  declare 
how  more  than  honored,  how  glad  and  happy  I  am, 
that  this  God-speed  comes  not  from  any  party  or  spe 
cial  class  of  men,  but  from  the  united  activity  and  en 
terprise  and  intelligence,  the  scientific,  artistic,  and 
spiritual  aspiration,  of  this  great  city.  I  do  not  go 
abroad  as  the  representative  of  a  party,  but  of  the 
government  and  the  entire  people  of  the  United 
States.  I  shall  not  ask  of  any  one  who  comes  to  me 


MINISTER   TO   GERMANY.  731 

for  such  assistance  or  information  as  I  may  be  able  to 
render  more  than  the  simple  question,  '  Are  you  an 
American  citizen  ? '  So  far  as  the  duties  of  my  posi 
tion  are  concerned,  I  hope  to  discharge  them  faithfully 
and  satisfactorily.  I  am  accredited  to  a  court  with 
which  our  government  has  never  had  other  than 
friendly  relations,  and  cannot  anticipate  any  other ; 
and  if  an  important  question  should  arise,  requiring 
the  decision  of  a  wiser  judgment  than  mine,  I  am  able 
to  communicate  instantly  with  the  head  of  the  De 
partment  of  State,  who,  more  than  any  other  living 
statesman,  has  labored  to  substitute  peaceful  arbitra 
tion  for  war,  in  settling  disputes  between  nations.  I 
may,  therefore,  without  undue  estimation  of  self ,  look 
forward  calmly  and  confidently  to  my  coming  duties. 

"  I  feel  that  I  may  also  claim  the  right,  this  evening, 
to  magnify  mine  office.  I  cannot  agree  with  those  of 
our  legislators  who  seem  willing  to  return  to  the  prac 
tices  of  semi-civilized  races,  in  the  earlier  ages  of  the 
world,  and  abolish  all  permanent  diplomatic  represen 
tation  abroad.  I  prefer  to  recognize  the  increased,  and 
ever-increasing,  importance  given  to  such  posts,  by  the 
growth  and  nearer  intercourse  of  all  nations.  It  is 
a  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  minister  is  merely  a  polit 
ical  representative,  whose  duties  cease  when  he  has 
negotiated  a  treaty  of  commerce,  or  defended  the  tech 
nical  rights  of  his  countrymen.  Our  age  requires  of 
him  larger  services  than  these.  He  ought  also  to  be  a 
permanent  agent  for  the  interchange  of  reciprocal  and 
beneficent  knowledge,  making  nations  and  races  better 
acquainted  with  each  other  ;  an  usher,  to  present  the 
intelligence,  the  invention,  the  progressive  energy,  of 
each  land  to  the  other ;  always  on  hand  to  correct 
mistaken  views,  to  soften  prejudices,  and  to  knit  new 


732  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

bonds  of  sympathy.  Finally,  as  a  guest,  privileged 
by  the  government  which  receives  him,  because  chosen 
by  that  which  sends  him,  he  must  never  forget  that 
every  one  of  his  fellow-citizens  is  honored  or  dishonored, 
justly  or  unjustly  judged,  by  the  action  of  him  who  rep 
resents  the  country ! 

"  If  you  think  my  conception  of  the  position  a  worthy 
one,  you  lighten  somewhat  the  burden  of  my  gratitude 
to  you  ;  for  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  make  that  concep 
tion  a  reality.  Let  me  also  believe  that  there  is  a  real 
strength  conferred  by  friendship ;  that  there  is  help 
in  congratulation,  and  good  omen  in  good-will !  You 
have  given  me  a  farewell  cup,  brimming  over  with  un- 
mingled  cheer  and  sparkle.  The  only  bitter  drop  in  it 
comes  from  my  own  regret  at  parting,  for  a  time,  from 
so  many  true  and  noble-hearted  friends." 

Just  before  midnight  the  company  rose  from  the 
tables  and  passed  into  the  parlors  adjoining  the  hall. 
From  a  balcony,  the  street  below  was  seen  to  be 
thronged  with  people.  A  calcium  light  made  bright 
ness,  and  just  then  a  torchlight  procession  came  in 
sight,  headed  by  a  band  of  music.  The  band  halted 
below  the  balcony,  and  played  a  serenade.  Then  fol 
lowed  a  rich  chorus  of  men's  voices.  It  was  the  Ger 
man  Liederkranz,  which  had  come  to  say  farewell  to 
the  American  minister.  Bayard  Taylor,  completely 
surprised,  and  stirred  by  the  occasion,  stepped  out 
upon  the  balcony  to  answer  the  serenade.  Without 
hesitation,  and  with  no  other  preparation  than  the 
scene  inspired,  he  gave  in  German  the  little  speech 
which  follows  in  English :  — 

"Mr  GERMAN  FELLOW-CITIZENS,  —  How  shall  I 
thank  you  for  coming  to  crown  so  beautifully  this,  to 
me,  ever-memorable  evening?  For  Art  is  the  true 


MINISTER   TO   GERMANY.  733 

crown  of  Civilization ;  and  your  songs  breathe  upon 
me  like  a  breeze  from  the  German  woods.  I  hold  it 
as  a  particular  honor  that  you  have  taken  part  in  this 
festival;  now  all  the  elements  are  united  which  I 
must  represent  abroad,  so  far  as  I  have  the  power  to 
do  it.  You  have  endeavored,  as  I  have,  to  comprehend 
the  life,  the  genius,  the  importance  in  the  world's  his 
tory,  of  the  two  great  nations,  —  I  through  repeated 
residence  and  the  studies  of  years  in  your  first  home, 
you  through  the  circumstance  that  you  have  found  in 
mine  a  second  home.  I  may  assume  that  we  have 
reached  the  same  conviction,  namely,  that  the  races 
are  most  fortunately  developed  through  mutual  knowl 
edge,  sympathy,  and  assimilation  of  the  good  which 
belongs  to  each.  The  German  Empire  and  the  Ameri 
can  Kepublic  have  much  to  gain,  and  nothing  to  lose, 
by  continued  relations  of  friendship.  Once  more  my 
hearty  thanks  :  Long  live  German  Song  and  German 
Art!" 

In  his  account  of  the  Three  Hundredth  Anniversary 
of  the  University  of  Jena,1  Bayard  Taylor  has  given  a 
lively  picture  of  the  Commers  which  closed  the  three 
days'  festival.  It  fell  to  him  now  to  be  the  recipient, 
a  few  evenings  before  he  sailed,  of  honors  paid  in  a 
Commers  of  the  Deutsche  Gesellig  -  Wissenschqft- 
liche  Verein  of  New*  York,  when  speech  and  song 
were  given  in  the  multitudinous  and  jovial  fashion  of 
the  ceremony. 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  time  and  tide  waited  to  give 
opportunity  for  more  leave-taking.  The  Holsatia  left 
the  pier  at  Jersey  City  on  the  afternoon  of  April 
llth,  and  a  large  party  accompanied  Bayard  Taylor 
and  his  family  down  the  harbor.  A  tug  bearing  the 
1  At  Home  and  Abroad,  First  Series. 


734  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

German  flag  puffed  along  after  the  steamer,  which  was 
most  of  the  time  enveloped  in  fog  and  rain.  When 
over  the  bar  at  sundown,  the  tug  drew  up  alongside  to 
carry  back  the  friends,  who  now  said  their  good-bys. 
But  so  heavy  was  the  swell  that  it  was  impossible  for 
the  tug  to  come  close  enough  to  the  Holsatia,  and  to 
the  dismay  of  some  and  the  entertainment  of  the  rest 
it  steamed  away,  showing  at  the  same  moment  a  liberal 
collation  which  the  German  consul-general  had  pro 
vided  for  the  returning  company.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  wait  for  the  morning.  The  steamer 
rode  at  anchor  in  the  outer  bay,  and  when  morning 
came  returned  through  the  Narrows  to  Staten  Island, 
where  the  tug  again  made  its  appearance,  and  carried 
off  the  constrained  passengers.  Long  before  they  had 
left  the  steamer,  Bayard  Taylor  had  sought  his  state 
room,  entirely  overcome  by  the  strain  under  which  he 
had  been  ever  since  his  appointment,  —  a  strain  which 
had  tightened  as  the  time  for  departure  drew  near. 
Only  when  the  voyage  had  fairly  begun  was  he  able  to 
secure  the  needed  rest  and  quiet.  Nor  could  he  have 
this  without  the  aid  of  sedatives.  His  brain  was  ab 
normally  active.  As  soon  as  he  composed  himself  for 
sleep  he  would  begin  to  prepare  speeches  in  English 
and  German,  and  there  seemed  for  a  time  imminent 
danger  of  brain  fever.  His  letters,  after  arrival  in 
England,  narrate  the  new  series  of  social  labors  upon 
which  he  now  entered. 

TO    SAMUEL    BANCROFT,    JR. 

LONDON,  April  25,  1878. 

I  was  mightily  sorry  to  miss  the  last  sight  of  you  and  the  rest, 
but  I  was  really  incapable  of  anything  more.  The  strain  had 
been  too  great,  and  the  reaction  was  proportioned  to  it.  I  think 
I  was  on  the  verge  of  brain  fever,  or  something  of  the  sort,  for  I 


MINISTER   TO   GERMANY.  735 

could  not  sleep  for  three  days,  and  only  succeeded  by  taking 
bromide  of  potassium.  For  four  days  we  had  wonderfully  fine 
weather,  crossed  the  Banks  within  ten  miles  of  the  southernmost 
iceberg,  and  hoped  for  a  fine  run  across  the  mid- Atlantic  ;  but 
then  came  four  other  days  with  a  furious  squall  of  hail  and  snow 
every  hour,  and  a  high  sea.  The  last  two  days  were  lovely 
again,  and  we  reached  Plymouth  under  a  summer  sky,  with  all 
the  downs  golden  with  flowering  gorse.  Day  before  yesterday 
we  came  on  here,  and  day  after  to-morrow  we  go  on  to  Paris. 
We  only  stop  for  business  and  shopping,  avoiding  society,  but 
could  not  help  dining  out  last  evening,  to  meet  Max  Miiller.  I 
resisted  an  invitation  to  the  opening  of  Keble  College,  Oxford, 
to-day,  and  also  Minister  Welsh's  plan  for  a  big  dinner  on  Satur 
day  :  it  would  be  too  much.  I  am  a  good  deal  recruited,  but 
not  wholly,  and  must  save  my  strength  for  an  official  appearance 
at  the  opening  of  the  Paris  Exposition. 

Most  cordial  and  delightful  letters  from  Berlin  meet  us  here, 
and  we  are  assured  of  a  generous  welcome  there.  We  shall  ar 
rive  in  a  week  from  to-morrow,  glad  to  have  a  haven  of  rest, 
even  if  it  includes  labor. 

It  was  impossible  for  Bayard  Taylor  at  this  time  to 
renew  his  literary  acquaintance  in  London,  but  he 
must  needs  pay  a  visit  to  Carlyle,  to  whose  house  he 
went  with  Mr.  Moncure  D.  Conway,  who  had  just  in 
troduced  him  to  Max  Miiller.  "  We  found  Carlyle," 
says  Mr.  Conway,  "  in  the  early  afternoon  alone,  and 
reading.  He  presently  remembered  the  previous  call 
which  the  young  author  had  made  upon  him,  and  con 
gratulated  him  that  he  belonged  to  a  country  which  pre 
ferred  to  be  represented  abroad  by  scholars  and  thinkers 
rather  than  by  professional  diplomatists.  He  at  once 
inquired  how  he  was  getting  on  with  his  life  of  Goethe, 
remarking  that  such  a  work  was  needed.  Bayard 
Taylor  told  him  of  a  number  of  new  documents  of 
importance  which  the  Germans  had  intrusted  to  him. 
The  two  at  once  entered  upon  an  interesting  consul 
tation  concerning  the  knotty  points  in  Goethe's  his- 

VOL.  II.  21 


736  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

tory.  He  referred  to  Bayard  Taylor's  translation  of 
'  Faust ; '  with,  a  good-natured  smile,  he  said,  '  Yours 
is  the  twentieth  version  of  that  book  which  their  au 
thors  have  been  kind  enough  to  place  on  my  shelves. 
You  have  grappled,  I  see,  with  the  Second  Part.  My 
belief  increasingly  has  been  that  when  Goethe  had  got 
through  with  his  "  Faust "  he  found  himself  in  posses 
sion  of  a  vast  quantity  of  classical  and  mediaeval  lore, 
demonology,  and  what  not :  it  was  what  he  somewhere 
called  his  Walpurgis  Sack,  which  he  might  some  day 
empty,  and  it  all  got  emptied,  in  his  artistic  way,  in 
Part  II.  Such  is  my  present  impression.'  At  last 
Carlyle's  brougham  was  announced,  and  he  must  take 
his  customary  drive ;  but  he  was  evidently  sorry  to 
give  up  this  interview.  He  entered  upon  an  impres 
sive  monologue  about  Goethe,  which  ended  with  a  rep 
etition  of  the  first  verses  of  the  '  Freemason's  Song.' 
His  voice  trembled  a  little  when  he  came  to  the  lines 

*  Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent.' 

'No  voice  from  either  of  those  directions,'  he  said, 
with  a  sigh.  Then  Bayard  Taylor  took  up  the  strain, 
and  in  warm,  earnest  tones  repeated  the  remaining 
verses  in  his  perfect  German.  Carlyle  was  profoundly 
moved.  He  grasped  Taylor's  hand  and  said,  '  Shall  I 
see  you  again?'  The  other  answered  that  he  must 
immediately  leave  England,  but  hoped  to  return  before 
long.  Carlyle  passed  down  to  his  carriage,  but  just  as 
he  was  about  driving  off  made  the  driver  halt,  and 
signaled  to  us  to  come  near.  He  said  to  Bayard 
Taylor,  'I  hope  you  will  do  your  best  at  Berlin  to 
save  us  from  further  war  in  Europe ; '  and  then,  after 
a  moment's  silence,  4  Let  us  shake  hands  once  more ; 


MINISTER    TO   GERMANY.  737 

we  are  not  likely  to  meet  again.     I  wish  you  all  suc 
cess  and  happiness.' " l 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 
AMERICAN  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  May  7,  1878. 

I  use  my  first  moment  of  leisure  to  report  progress  thus  far. 
I  don't  remember  whether,  in  writing  to  you  from  London,  I 
spoke  of  my  most  delightful  visit  to  Carlyle,  where  I  also  met 
Froude.  After  the  old  man  got  into  his  carriage  for  his  after 
noon  drive,  he  called  for  me,  shook  hands  again,  and  said,  "  I  'm 
verra  glad  you  've  come  to  see  me  ;  we  may  never  meet  agin,  and 
I  want  to  say  to  ye  that  I  desire  yer  prosperrity."  We  had  hard 
work  in  London  to  get  through  with  our  purchases  in  three  days, 
and  then  went  to  Paris,  Saturday,  April  27th,  taking  Mrs.  Smal- 
ley  along.  G.  W.  S.  met  us  at  the  station,  having  already  se 
cured  .the  free  entrance  of  all  our  trunks  and  our  exit  in  advance 
of  the  crowd  through  a  side  door. 

We  had  five  days  in  Paris,  and  very  fatiguing  days  they  were. 
I  had  a  fearful  time  in  the  official  procession,  —  lost  my  carriage, 
had  no  umbrella,  tramped  three  miles  on  foot  to  the  hotel  in  rain 
and  mud,  and  narrowly  escaped  being  killed  in  crossing  the  bou 
levard.  In  the  evening,  all  three  of  us  went  to  MacMahon's  grand 
reception  at  his  palace.  I  forgot  to  say  that  through  G.  W.  S. 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Louis  Blanc  (a  charming  little  fel 
low  !),  and  he  took  me  to  spend  an  evening  with  Victor  Hugo. 
To  my  great  surprise,  I  was  delighted  with  V.  H.  He  was  amia 
bility  itself,  and  even  hinted  at  giving  me  a  dinner,  if  I  could 
remain  long  enough.  The  man  is  much  better  than  his  prepos 
terous  pronunciamentos.  His  manners  are  those  of  an  old-school 
gentleman,  and  his  French  the  purest  and  most  delightful  I  ever 
heard  in  my  life.  I  stayed  to  a  queer  midnight  supper  with  him, 
which  I  have  not  time  to  describe  now.  At  the  opening  I  met 
him  again  among  the  senators  ;  also  Louis  Blanc,  who  was 
crushed  and  unhappy. 

At  MacMahon's  there  was  what  might  be  called  une  exposi 
tion  sociale  et  politique.  Think  of  seeing  ex-Queen  of  Spain  Isa 
bella,  ex-King  of  Spain  Amadeo,  the  Duke  de  Nemours,  Prince 
of  Wales,  Crown  Prince  of  Denmark,  Gambetta,  Alexandre  Du 
mas,  a  Nevada  Bonanza  lady  (?),  and  what  not,  all  mixed  up  to- 
l  A  Sketch  of  Thomas  Carlyle.  By  M.  D.  Conway. 


738  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

gether  !  The  etiquette  was  curious  ;  there  was  no  usher  or  other 
official  personage  on  hand,  and  I  was  compelled  to  introduce  my 
self  and  family  to  the  Marshal-President.  However,  he  was  very 
amiable,  and  all  went  off  well.  On  Thursday  evening,  Noyes 
gave  a  grand  dinner-party  to  Welsh  and  myself.  We  begged  off 
from  going  to  the  big  ministerial  reception  the  same  evening,  for 
we  were  obliged  to  get  up  at  five  the  next  morning  to  take  the 
train  for  Cologne.  On  entering  Germany,  everything  seemed  to 
have  been  anticipated.  The  baggage  was  instantly  passed  free, 
the  head  railroad  official  announced  that  he  had  reserved  a  special 
carriage  for  us,  and  all  along  the  road,  on  Saturday,  the  officials 
came  to  pay  their  respects  at  the  stations.  On  reaching  here,  I 
was  received  by  the  whole  diplomatic  and  consular  personnel.  Mr. 
Everett  wrote  on  Sunday  evening  for  an  interview  with  Baron 
Billow,  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  and  it  came  off  yesterday. 
To-day,  with  very  unusual  promptness,  the  Emperor  received 
me,  and  I  have  just  come  from  the  first  dinner,  given  by  Billow, 
who  said,  "  You  must  allow  me  to  offer  you  the  first  hospitality 
in  Berlin."  Three  members  of  the  ministry  were  present ;  also 
Curtius  and  Professor  von  Sybel.  It  was  a  delightful  affair.  The 
Emperor,  it  seems,  was  quite  delighted  because  I  made  my  little 
address  in  German.  He  was  remarkably  cordial  and  communi 
cative.  To-day  I  took  full  charge  of  the  legation,  read  up  the 
business  on  hand,  and  gave  my  first  official  signatures. 

In  spite  of  this  very  sudden  assumption  of  duty,  I  am  gaining 
strength  and  spirits  day  by  day  ;  for  I  am  here  at  last,  and  can 
arrange  for  the  needful  rest.  My  wife  and  daughter  left  me  at 
Hannover  on  Saturday,  en  route  hither,  to  visit  my  mother-in-law, 
who  has  been  ill ;  but  she  is  recovering,  and  they  will  be  here 
day  after  to-morrow.  If  the  business  of  the  legation  does  not 
materially  increase,  I  am  quite  sure  of  three  hours  every  morn 
ing  for  my  literary  work,  and  this  is  all  I  need.  My  reception 
here  has  been  as  cordial  (though,  of  course,  in  a  more  formal 
way)  as  my  departure  from  home,  and  I  have  only  to  keep  the 
ground  thus  gained  in  order  to  make  my  position  easy  and  agree 
able  to  the  end. 

I  write  thus  much  this  evening,  because  a  great  round  of  cere 
monial  calls  begins  to-morrow,  and  I  am  not  sure  of  much  leisure 
for  another  week.  Of  course  nothing  of  this  must  get  into  print, 
but  I  hope  you  '11  show  it  to  such  friends  as  may  be  interested  in 
my  progress. 


MINISTER   TO  GERMANY.  739 

Mr.  G.  W.  Smalley,  who  was  with  Bayard  Taylor 
until  he  left  Paris,  has  recorded  the  impression  which 
he  received  from  the  companionship,  and  relates  at 
some  length  the  incident  at  MacMahon's  reception 
merely  hinted  at  in  the  letter  just  quoted. 

"  I  last  saw  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  writes  to  the  "  Trib 
une  "  from  London,  December  22,  1879,  "in  Paris, 
whither  he  came  for  the  opening  of  the  Exhibition  on 
his  way  to  Berlin.  He  had  by  no  means  recovered 
from  the  fatigue  imposed  upon  him  by  the  long  series 
of  well-meant  kindnesses  which  marked  his  farewell 
to  America.  The  letters,  the  public  festivals,  the  din 
ners,  all  the  manifestations  of  private  friendship  and 
public  admiration  which  had  been  lavished  on  him, 
had  laid  a  great  strain  on  his  already  overtaxed  sys 
tem.  None  the  less  was  he  profoundly  touched  by 
them,  and  sensible  of  the  friendliness  which  prompted 
them.  He  spoke  of  them  repeatedly  and  with  emo 
tion  as  one  of  the  most  precious  experiences  of  his 
life.  He  spoke  of  his  appointment  to  Berlin  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  who  was  modestly  conscious  of  his 
worth ;  who  knew  that  the  distinction,  brilliant  as  it 
was,  had  been  fairly  earned,  but  who  was  none  the 
less  grateful  for  it.  He  knew  that  he  was  fit  for  the 
place,  and  that  the  honor  bestowed  on  him  was  one  to 
which  he  in  turn  was  able  to  do  honor.  He  had  a  just 
pride  in  hearing  his  name  associated  with  the  names 
of  Irving,  of  Motley,  of  Marsh,  of  Lowell,  —  one  and 
all  men  who  had  earned  their  fame  in  literature  be 
fore  they  became  diplomatists.  He  was  far  too  frank 
and  open-natured  to  care  to  hide  his  pleasure.  With 
all  his  varied  and  ample  experience,  with  all  his 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  mastery  of  social  conven 
tionalities,  Mr.  Taylor  retained  to  the  last  a  certain 


740  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

freshness  and  candor  in  expressing  his  inmost  feel 
ings,  which  belongs  only  to  those  souls  that  have  no 
mean  secrets  to  keep,  no  false  pride  or  false  modesty. 
He  was  pleased,  and  he  was  not  ashamed  of  being 
pleased.  It  is  only  a  man  very  sure  of  himself  who 
can  venture  to  take  the  world  into  his  confidence  as 
he  did.  Then,  as  often  before,  I  thought  it  most  hon 
orable  to  him.  It  was  consistent  with  great  dignity 
of  demeanor,  and  whoever  fancied  he  could  take  ad 
vantage  of  it  soon  found  out  his  mistake.  He  sub 
mitted  readily  and  generously  to  all  sorts  of  slight  im 
positions.  He  gave  five  francs  for  some  service  which 
fifty  centimes  would  have  rewarded  amply.  He  would 
never  look  too  closely  into  matters  where  only  his 
own  interest  was  at  stake,  but  where  others  were  con 
cerned,  where  it  was  his  business  to  defend  interests 
which  had  been  confided  to  him,  he  could  be  hard,  as 
tute,  immovable.  That  was  one  of  his  peculiar  merits 
as  a  minister.  In  most  points  no  two  men  could  be 
more  unlike  than  Mr.  Taylor  and  Prince  Bismarck, 
but  they  had  this  in  common :  that  they  told  the  truth 
fearlessly,  and  found  it  serve  their  purpose  where  the 
most  ingenious  mystifications  would  have  failed  of 
their  end. 

"  A  single  incident,  which  I  hope  I  may  now  relate 
without  offense  to  anybody,  will  show  how  thoroughly 
a  man  of  the  world  he  was  in  the  midst  of  all  his 
simplicity.  On  the  night  of  the  1st  of  May  he  went 
to  the  Marshal's  official  reception  at  the  Elyse*e.  He 
found  himself  on  his  arrival  absolutely  alone.  No  one 
from  the  legation  in  Paris  had  accompanied  him,  and 
no  one  was  at  the  palace  to  meet  him.  The  official 
arrangements  were  so  meagre  that  not  so  much  as  an 
usher  was  there  to  announce  him.  I  don't  know  what 


MINISTER    TO   GERMANY.  741 

had  become  of  that  imposing  personage  M.  Mollard, 
introducteur  des  ambassadeurs.  Mr.  Taylor's  col 
league  did  not  arrive  till  later.  With  Marshal  Mac- 

o 

Mahon,  the  President  of  the  French  Republic,  Mr. 
Taylor  had  no  acquaintance.  In  such  circumstances, 
most  men  would  have  gone  away,  or  would  have  min 
gled  quietly  with  the  crowd.  Mr.  Taylor  made  his 
way  to  the  Marshal,  introduced  himself  by  his  name 
and  title,  paid  his  due  compliment,  and  asked  leave 
to  present  his  wife  and  daughter.  The  Marshal,  what 
ever  his  political  sins,  is  quick  to  recognize  manly 
frankness.  He  greeted  Mr.  Taylor  cordially,  carried 
off  the  party,  and  presented  them  to  the  Duchess, 
who  in  turn  received  them  with  marked  civility.  '  I 
thought,'  said  Mr.  Taylor,  in  describing  the  incident 
to  me,  '  that  I  had  no  choice.  It  was  known  that  I 
was  in  Paris,  and  had  been  asked  to  this  ceremony. 
If  I  had  gone  away  without  making  myself  known, 
my  supposed  absence  would  have  been  set  down  as 
a  piece  of  rudeness  or  carelessness,  and  I  was  deter 
mined  that  no  such  charge  should  be  brought  against 
a  minister  of  the  American  republic  when  he  was  in 
the  capital  of  a  foreign  republic.'  He  made  abso 
lutely  no  observation  on  the  singularity  of  his  posi 
tion,  on  his  being  left  to  do  for  himself  what  some 
body  else  might  have  done  for  him.  I  don't  think  it 
occurred  to  him  that  any  neglect  had  been  shown  him. 
He  was  concerned  with  nothing  but  the  discharge  of 
his  duty.  He  did  it,  let  me  add,  after  a  day  of  great 
fatigue,  and  when  he  was  quite  ill  enough  to  have  ex 
cused  him  for  going  to  bed  instead  of  going  to  the 
Elysee.  He  had  been  on  foot  all  the  morning  and 
afternoon  at  the  opening  ceremony,  missed  his  car 
riage,  and  walked  home,  arriving  in  a  state  of  ex 
haustion." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
FINAL  DAYS. 

1878. 

And  last,  ye  Forms,  with  shrouded  face 

Hiding  the  features  of  your  woe, 
That  on  the  fresh  sod  of  his  burial-place 

Your  myrtle,  oak,  and  laurel  throw,— 
Who  are  ye  ?  ... 

"  I  am  Germany, 
Drawn  sadly  nearer  now 

By  songs  of  his  and  mine  that  make  one  strain, 
Though  parted  by  the  world-dividing  sea  !  " 

Epicedium. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  entered  upon  his  duties  as  minis 
ter  at  a  time  when  Europe,  and  Germany  especially, 
was  in  an  excited  condition,  and  when  a  foreign  min 
ister  had  need  to  use  his  best  knowledge  of  men  and 
affairs.  During  the  summer  two  attempts  were  made 
upon  the  Emperor's  life,  and  elsewhere  the  assassin 
seemed  to  be  striking  in  the  dark  at  existing  powers. 
The  Social  Democrats  of  Germany  were  making  them 
selves  a  force  in  politics.  The  Berlin  Congress  for 
the  settlement  of  the  Eastern  Question  brought  to 
gether  a  remarkable  body  of  men,  and  the  United 
States  was  at  this  time  significantly  represented  in 
Europe  in  the  person  of  its  late  President,  General 
Grant,  who  was  traveling  with  his  family. 

The  American  Minister  found  himself,  in  his  new 
position,  at  once  among  people  who  knew  well  his  at 
tainments.  The  court  which  received  him  gave  him  a 


FINAL  DAYS.  743 

welcome  which  was  beyond  the  mere  official  reception 
of  an  ambassador  from  a  friendly  power.  Mr.  H. 
Sidney  Everett,  First  Secretary  of  the  Legation,  had 
written  to  Secretary  Evarts  in  March,  "I  may  add 
here  that  the  appointment  of  Mr.  Bayard  Taylor  as 
Minister  to  Berlin  has  given  the  greatest  satisfaction 
in  official  and  diplomatic  circles  here,  and  is  accepted 
as  proof  of  the  good-will  and  good  judgment  of  the 
administration. 

TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  May  18,  1878. 

I  write  to  you  again,  intending  this  letter  to  be  read  by  all. 
We  are  very  busy  just  now  getting  settled  and  paying  the  round 
of  formal  visits  which  is  required  of  us.  I  have  already  used  a 
hundred  and  fifty  cards,  and  ordered  three  hundred  more  to  be 
printed.  The  Crown  Prince  received  me  last  Friday  (yesterday 
week,  I  mean),  with  the  greatest  friendliness.  He  came  up  to 
me  with  outstretched  hand,  saying,  in  English,  "Oh,  I  know 
you  already  !  My  wife  was  talking  about  your  'Faust'  only  a 
few  weeks  ago."  My  hearty  reception  by  the  imperial  family 
is  known,  of  course,  to  the  diplomatic  corps,  and  hence  all  the 
other  ambassadors  are  very  polite  and  obliging.  .  .  . 

M.  and  L.  nearly  saw  the  attempt  to  assassinate  the  Emperor. 
He  passed  them  hardly  two  minutes  before  the  man  fired.  I 
went  to  the  palace  at  once,  and  was  one  of  the  first  to  offer  my 
congratulations.  Yesterday  I  received,  officially,  the  Emperor's 
thanks.  Last  night  there  was  a  magnificent  torchlight  proces 
sion  of  students. 

We  are  busy  looking  out  for  a  residence.  We  can  get  a  su 
perb  one  for  about  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year  (adding  the 
office-rent,  which  the  government  pays),  with  a  grand  ballroom 
and  no  end  of  bedrooms.  I  think  we  shall  take  it.  Furnished 
apartments  can  scarcely  be  had,  but  furniture  is  now  very  cheap, 
and  we  think  we  can  save  enough  from  the  salary  by  October 
1st  to  buy  all  that  is  necessary.  So  far  as  I  can  judge,  the  ex 
penses  will  be  just  about  what  I  calculated.  M.  and  L.  are  out 
this  afternoon,  leaving  cards,  with  Harris  (our  mulatto  man), 
gorgeous  in  his  gold-banded  stove-pipe  hat.  No  one  else  has  a 
colored  footman  except  Prince  Karl,  and  Harris  adds  immensely 


744  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

to  our  respectability.  I  find  that  our  experience  in  St.  Peters 
burg  is  of  great  value  now.  We  know  what  to  do,  and  people 
are  rather  surprised  to  find  that  we  know  it.  All  this  tells  in 
such  an  artificial  society  as  we  move  in.  The  business  of  the 
legation  is  less  than  I  supposed  ;  the  two  secretaries  take  all 
the  bother  off  my  hands,  and  I  am  in  capital  spirits  about  my 
literary  work.  The  weather  is  wonderful  ;  it  is  full  summer ;  all 
windows  open,  even  at  night,  and  cloudless  skies,  day  after  day. 

A  few  days  after  the  date  of  this  letter  he  thought 
it  advisable  to  consult  a  physician  on  account  of  a 
continued  disturbance  of  his  system,  but  the  advice 
which  he  received  did  not  presuppose  any  serious  dif 
ficulty. 

TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION,  June  9,  1878. 

.  .  .  You  know  what  has  happened  here  since  I  arrived,  and 
can  easily  guess  what  an  exciting  five  weeks  I  have  already  lived 
through.  My  reception  has  been  exceptionally  cordial  and  agree 
able,  and  I  am  in  every  way  agreeably  surprised  by  my  expe 
riences.  The  Crown  Prince  met  me  like  an  old  friend,  coming 
forward  with  outstretched  hand,  and  saying,  "  Oh,  I  know  you 
already;"  and  yesterday,  when  I  had  my  first  interview  with 
Bismarck,  he  began  with,  "  I  read  one  of  your  books  through, 
with  my  wife,  during  my  late  illness."  I  passed  an  hour  with 
him  alone,  in  the  garden  behind  his  palace,  and  felt  in  ten 
minutes  as  if  I  had  known  him  for  years.  I  was  astounded  at 
the  freedom  with  which  he  spoke,  but  I  shall  honor  his  confidence 
and  say  nothing  for  years  to  come.  The  duties  of  the  legation 
are  not  difficult  when  one  knows  the  routine,  and  I  find  that  my 
former  experience  in  St.  Petersburg  helps  me  immensely.  Be 
sides,  the  two  secretaries  are  exactly  the  men  I  need,  —  intel 
ligent,  methodical,  thorough  gentlemen,  as  the  son  of  Everett  and 
the  grandson  of  Crittenden  must  be,  —  and  thus  willing  to  accord 
me  every  right,  and  prompt  to  render  every  prescribed  assistance. 
We  harmonize  thoroughly,  and  there  are  only  about  two  days  in 
the  week  when  we  are  obliged  to  work  longer  than  three  hours 
together. 

The  main  result  of  all  this  is  that  I  am  slowly  and  surely  re 
covering  my  health.  I  have  consulted  the  best  physician  in  Ber- 


FINAL  DAYS.  745 

lin?  whose  counsel  is,  substantially  :  as  little  work  as  possible, 
eight  or  nine  hours'  sleep,  one  hour's  walking  every  day,  light 
wines  with  brandy  and  seltzer,  and  a  stomach  tonic  which  has 
already  restored  my  normal  appetite.  Looking  back,  now,  I  see 
how  near  I  was  to  utter  physical  ruin,  but,  thank  God,  the 
danger  is  over.  All  my  functions  are  coming  nearer  entire 
health,  day  by  day,  and  the  office  business,  since  I  have  mastered 
its  character,  is  no  particular  drain  upon  my  strength.  In  this 
respect  my  position  here  is  far  better  than  I  anticipated.  My 
books  are  unpacked,  I  feel  eager  for  the  task,  and  a  fortnight 
will  not  go  by  before  I  write  the  opening  chapter  of  my  biog 
raphy  of  Goethe. 

The  congress,  which  meets  here  next  Thursday,  will  not  im 
pose  upon  me  anything  more  than  a  few  dispatches.  I  suppose 
there  will  be  dinners,  etc.,  and  I  shall  see  my  old  friend  Gort- 
chakoff  again.  Bismarck  showed  me  the  room  where  the  ses 
sions  will  be.  I  advised  him  to  put  Beaconsfield  at  one  end  of 
the  long  table  and  Gortchakoff  at  the  other.  He  laughed,  and 
said,  "Yes  ;  I  think  I  shall  have  to  do  that."  But  the  thing 
won't  last  more  than  a  fortnight,  since  the  main  points  are  all 
cut  and  dried  beforehand.  Of  course  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
excitement  arising  from  the  regency  of  the  Crown  Prince  just  at 
this  time,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  worst  of  the  crisis  is  al 
ready  over.  The  Social  Democrats  (American  communists)  have 
overreached  themselves,  and  what  has  happened  here  may  pre 
vent  what  otherwise  might  have  happened  at  home.  It  is  a  secret 
society,  and  with  international  correspondence  ;  hence  I  think  the 
rabble  will  be  somewhat  cautious  for  the  present. 

TO  MR.  AND  MRS.  R.  H.  STODDARD. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  June  10, 1878. 
At  last,  at  last,  I  feel  that  I  can  sit  down  and  write  to  you 
with  somewhat  of  freedom  and  freshness  of  mind.  I  have  really 
suffered,  both  before  leaving  home  and  since.  I  had  too  much 
to  do,  bear,  consider,  receive,  accept,  reject,  etc.,  etc.  (you  know 
what  I  mean).  After  sailing  I  could  not  sleep  for  three  nights, 
and  must  have  been  on  the  verge  of  brain  fever,  or  something  of 
the  sort.  The  voyage  was  rough ;  the  short  stay  in  London  filled 
with  shopping  and  business,  ditto  in  Paris,  and  no  chance  of  rest 
before  reaching,  here.  However,  I  have  some  rich  memories, 
which  will  stay,  when  I  forget  the  worry  and  fatigue. 


746  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

...  I  reached  here  May  4th,  and  have  had  my  hands  full  ever 
since.  Besides  the  business  of  the  legation  and  the  presenta 
tions  to  the  high  personages,  I  have  already  distributed  more 
than  four  hundred  cards  in  formal  necessary  calls.  Now  I  am 
nearly  through,  —  only  two  princes  more.  On  Saturday  I  had 
an  hour's  talk  with  Bismarck  in  the  garden  behind  his  palace  ;  he 
being  accompanied  by  a  huge  black  dog,  and  I  by  a  huge  brown 
bitch.  I  tell  you  he  is  a  great  man  !  We  talked  only  of  books, 
birds,  and  trees,  but  the  man's  deepest  nature  opened  now  and 
then,  and  I  saw  his  very  self.  The  attempts  on  the  Emperor's 
life  have  produced  an  effect  only  a  little  less  profound  than  the 
murder  of  Lincoln.  The  excitement  is  all  the  stronger  because 
it  is  silent,  but  now  it  is  subsiding,  and  to-day  (the  second  Pen 
tecost  holiday)  the  people  begin  to  look  cheerful  again. 

I  have  been  most  cordially  received,  and  like  Berlin  much 

better  than  I  expected.  .  .  .  E 's  family  has  gone  to  France 

for  the  summer,  so  we  have  taken  his  rooms  until  October,  when 
we  shall  arrange  our  own  household.  We  have  hired  a  carriage 
—  two  jet-black  horses  and  coachman  in  livery  —  for  about  one 
hundred  dollars  a  month,  and  find  that  the  other  expenses  will  be 
very  nearly  what  we  calculated,  and  thus  the  salary  will  be  quite 
sufficient.  .  .  . 

Well,  I  can't  write  more  than  this  sheet  now.  M.  and  L. 
send  best  love  to  all  three  of-  you.  They  are  very  busy,  packing 
up  to  go  to  the  Thiiringian  Forest  for  the  summer.  M.'s  mother 
has  been  very  ill,  and  we  just  learn  that  she  will  leave  Hamburg 
at  once  for  the  mountains,  so  M.  must  meet  her  there.  I  am 
under  the  charge  of  a  good  physician  here,  who  says,  eight  hours' 
sleep,  as  little  work  as  possible,  an  hour's  walk  every  day,  and  a 
stomachic  medicine.  Three  weeks  of  this  regimen  have  almost 
restored  my  old  self ;  I  have  not  felt  so  well  for  a  year.  Do 
write,  and  tell  me  the  news.  Henceforth  I  shall  have  more 
time,  and  I  never  lack  the  will. 

TO  SAMUEL   BANCROFT,   JR. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  June  18,  1878. 
Last  Saturday  George  von  Bunseu  (son  of  the  scholar  Bimsen) 
gave  me  a  dinner,  at  which  I  met  Curtius,  Mommsen,  Lepsius, 
Helmholz,  and  Minister  Waddington,  of  France.  Think  what  a 
company  that  was  !  Last  night  Lord  Odo  Russell  (English  am 
bassador)  had  a  reception,  and  I  saw  Dizzy  Beaconsfield,  Count 


FINAL  DAYS.  747 

Andrassy,  Marquis  of  Salisbury,  and  Mehemet  Ali  Pas-ha,  one  of 
the  Turkish  heroes  of  the  late  war.  To-morrow  night  Count 
Karoly,  Austrian  ambassador,  has  a  reception  for  the  congress  ; 
Friday  night  the  Count  St.  Vallier,  French  ambassador  ;  and  on 
Saturday  Delbriick,  ex-minister,  and  one  of  the  leading  men  of 
Germany,  gives  me  a  dinner.  My  reception  here  has  been  so 
cordial  that  people  talk  about  it  in  society  as  something  unusual. 
I  thank  Heaven  that  I  am  at  least  comparatively  well,  so  that 
these  social  festivals  refresh  instead  of  exhausting  me.  I  don't 
know  how  many  editors  of  German  magazines  and  papers  have 
written  to  me  for  contributions,  —  all  of  which  I  refuse,  of 
course.  I  have  already  a  dozen  presentation  copies  of  volumes 
from  authors,  and  have  been  applied  to  for  photographs  to  be 
engraved,  or  biographical  material !  I  cannot  candidly  say  that 
I  am  flattered,  or  even  slightly  pleased,  by  these  manifestations, 
because  I  don't  know  how  much  is  owing  simply  to  my  position. 
I  tell  you  the  whole  thing,  as  if  we  were  sitting  face  to  face  in 
the  Stuyvesant  Building,  and  you  must  not  suppose  that  the 
writing  of  all  this  means  more  than  the  telling  of  it  to  the  ac 
companiment  of  laughter  and  cigar  smoke.  But  I  think  you 
may  care  to  know  just  what  I  am  doing,  how  I  find  myself,  and 
what  happens  to  me  in  Berlin.  The  conventionalities  of  the 
office  rest  on  me  more  lightly  than  I  supposed  they  would, 
and  somehow  (I  wonder  at  it  myself)  the  diplomatic  business 
interests  and  agreeably  stimulates  me.  There  is  something  large, 
human  or  humane,  about  this  business,  which  comes  to  me  as  a 
natural  interest,  and  reconciles  me  to  much  that  is  merely  me 
chanical.  After  all,  there  is  something  inspiring  in  the  feeling 
that  one  represents  a  great  nation  and  speaks  with  the  voice  of 
that  nation. 

M.  and  L.  are  in  the  mountains  near  Gotha,  settled  for  the 
summer,  and  I  expect  to  spend  half  my  Sundays  with  them  :  it 
is  seven  hours  by  rail  from  here.  They  are  both  quite  well  and 
cheerful. 

In  his  official  dispatches,  Bayard  Taylor  conveyed 
to  his  government  the  impressions  which  had  been 
made  upon  him,  during  the  visit  of  General  Grant, 
of  the  attitude  which  Germany  took  toward  the  United 
States.  The  visit  gave  occasion  to  some  singular  ex- 


748  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

pressions  of  good-will,  and  it  is  scarcely  to  be  doubted 
that  the  channel  through  which  they  passed  was  an 
important  part  of  the  expression. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  TO  W.  M.  EVARTS. 

LEGATION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

BKKLIX,  July  1,  1878. 

...  It  had  been  announced  in  various  journals  that  General 
Grant  would  proceed  directly  from  Amsterdam  to  Copenhagen 
without  visiting  Berlin,  and  my  first  intimation  of  his  coming 
was  through  a  letter  from  my  colleague,  Mr.  Birney,  United 
States  Minister  resident  at  The  Hague,  received  on  the  22d  ul 
timo.  I  communicated  immediately  with  him  and  with  Mr. 
A.  M.  Simon,  the  United  States  Vice-Consul  at  Hanover,  and  as 
certained  the  day  and  hour  of  General  and  Mrs.  Grant's  arrival 
here.  It  was  then  impossible  —  since  the  stay  of  the  distin 
guished  visitors  would  be  brief  —  to  arrange  in  advance  for  such 
interviews  and  honors  as  might  be  procured  for  them  at  a  time 
when  both  assumed  an  exceptional  importance.  The  Emperor  is 
unable  to  receive  any  one,  and  I  was  informed  by  the  proper 
officials  that  the  Empress,  for  this  reason,  would  probably  feel 
bound  to  maintain  her  privacy  in  the  palace.  Prince  Frederick 
Charles  is  absent  on  a  visit  to  England,  and  Count  Moltke  is  re 
siding  on  his  estate  in  Silesia,  at  some  distance  from  Berlin. 
Furthermore,  the  presence  of  the  European  Congress,  and  the 
number  of  prearranged  dinners  and  social  assemblages  arising 
therefrom,  seemed  to  limit  the  amount  of  attention  which  at 
any  other  time  would  have  been  so  freely  accorded  to  the  ex- 
President. 

On  Wednesday,  the  26th  ultimo,  after  having  arranged  for  a 
reception  by  his  Imperial  Highness  the  Crown  Prince  and  by 
Prince  von  Bismarck,  I  traveled  as  far  as  Stendal  (about  sixty- 
five  miles),  there  met  General  and  Mrs.  Grant,  and  accompanied 
them  to  Berlin.  The  secretaries  of  this  legation,  the  consular 
officials,  and  a  number  of  the  American  residents  were  at  the 
station  to  welcome  the  distinguished  guests  ;  the  hour  was  too 
late  for  any  other  testimony  of  respect. 

The  following  afternoon  I  accompanied  General  Grant  to  the 
palace  of  the  Crown  Prince,  where  he  was  first  received  by  all 
the  adjutants  and  court  officials  of  the  latter,  and  conducted  to 


FINAL  DAYS.  749 

the  audience  room.  The  Crown  Prince  then  entered  in  his  uni 
form  of  field  marshal,  greeted  General  Grant  most  cordially, 
and  conversed  with  him  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  At  the 
close  of  the  interview  he  invited  him  and  Mrs.  Grant,  together 
with  myself,  to  dine  at  the  new  palace  in  Potsdam  the  next 
evening. 

On  returning  home  I  was  surprised  to  find  a  letter  from  Count 
Nesselrode,  court  marshal  of  the  Empress,  informing  me  that 
her  majesty  would  receive  me  on  Friday  afternoon.  From  the 
absence  of  certain  customary  formalities  on  reaching  the  palace 
and  the  quiet  manner  of  my  reception,  I  suspect  that  it  was 
meant  to  be  private  quite  as  much  as  official.  The  Empress 
took  occasion  to  express  to  me  the  Emperor's  interest  in  Gen 
eral  Grant's  history,  his  desire  to  meet  him  personally,  and  his 
great  regret  that  this  was  now  impossible.  Her  words  and  man 
ner  implied  an  authorization  that  I  should  repeat  these  expres 
sions  to  General  Grant.  She  then  spoke  very  freely  and  feelingly 
of  the  disturbances  occasioned  by  the  distress  of  the  laboring 
class,  declared  her  belief  that  a  period  of  peace  would  be  the 
best  remedy,  and  finally  said,  "  The  Emperor  knew  that  I  should 
see  you  to-day.  He  has  the  peace  of  the  world  at  heart,  and  he 
desires  nothing  so  much  as  the  establishment  of  friendship  be 
tween  nations.  I  ask  you  to  make  it  your  task  to  promote  the 
existing  friendship  between  your  country  and  ours.  You  cannot 
do  a  better  work,  and  we  shall  most  heartily  unite  with  you  in 
doing  it.  This  is  the  Emperor's  message  to  you,  and  he  asked 
me  to  give  it  to  you  in  his  name  as  well  as  my  own."  She  bowed 
and  left  me.  The  deep,  earnest,  pathetic  tones  of  her  voice  im 
pressed  me  profoundly.  I  kept  her  words  carefully  in  my  mem 
ory,  and  have  repeated  them  with  only  such  changes  as  the 
translation  makes  necessary. 

The  same  afternoon  I  accompanied  General  and  Mrs.  Grant  to 
Potsdam.  The  fact  that  the  dinner  was  given  specially  in  their 
honor  was  evident  on  reaching  the  station.  They  were  ushered 
into  the  imperial  waiting-room,  from  which  a  carpet  was  spread 
to  the  state  car.  On  reaching  Potsdam,  the  first  court  equipage 
conveyed  them,  together  with  Mr.  von  Schlozer,  German  Minister 
at  Washington,  and  myself,  to  the  palace,  the  other  guests  fol 
lowing  us.  Before  the  dinner  General  Grant  and  Mrs.  Grant 
and  myself  were  received  by  the  Crown  Princess  in  private  au 
dience.  The  company  numbered  about  fifty,  including  the  Prince 


750  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

of  Hohenzollern,  Prince  Augustus  of  Wiirtemberg,  the  members 
of  the  imperial  ministry,  and  all  the  chief  officials  of  the  court. 
Mrs.  Grant  was  seated  beside  the  Crown  Prince,  and  General 
Grant  opposite,  beside  Mr.  von  Billow,  both  being  the  places  of 
honor.  I  did  not  consider  it  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  the 
government  I  represent  to  make  any  stipulation  concerning  eti 
quette  in  advance,  or  even  to  ask  any  question,  and  I  am  con 
sequently  all  the  more  gratified  to  find  that  it  would  have  been 
unnecessary.  During  the  return  to  another  station,  by  a  longer 
drive  through  the  park,  General  Grant  received  every  mark  of 
respect  from  the  people,  who  crowded  the  streets  to  see  him 
pass.  .  .  . 

When  Bayard  Taylor  returned  that  night  from 
Potsdam  he  was  in  excellent  humor,  though  really  ex 
hausted  by  the  continued  exertion  which  he  was  com 
pelled  to  make,  when  he  was  far  from  well.  "  I  am 
so  happy !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  won  my  first  dip 
lomatic  battle.  At  the  close  of  the  dinner,  Mr.  von 
Billow  whispered  to  me,  '  You  shall  have  it  all  your 
own  way.'  "  This  was  d  propos  of  the  Ganzenmiiller 
case,1  one  of  the  many  cases  of  contested  citizenship 
which  were  constantly  arising  to  perplex  the  legation. 

TO   A.   R.   MACDONOUGH. 

FRIEDRICHRODA,  IM  THURINGERWALD,  July  26,  1878. 
I  can't  say  that  I  am  glad  of  the  occasion 2  which  has  brought 
me  a  letter  from  you  ;  but  I  am  very  glad  to  get  the  letter,  and 
will  take  it  as  a  pledge  that  the  two  unwritten  ones  shall  yet  be 
written.  Of  course  I  '11  do  what  is  asked,  and  all  the  more  be 
cause  you  will  read  my  lines.  I  would  scarcely  trust  any  one  else 
to  do  that.  But  I  cannot  undertake  to  have  my  "  Epicedium  " 
ready  before  September  1st.  I  am  only  just  now  getting  into 
the  writing  mood  again,  having  been  physically  and  morally  mis 
erable  for  some  weeks  past.  There  was  no  chance  of  rest  any 
where  on  the  way  to  Berlin  ;  and  when  by  the  end  of  May  I  was 
beginning  to  get  back  my  strength  and  spirits,  there  came  the 

1  See  Foreign  Relations  of  the  United  States,  1878,  pp.  216-231. 

2  The  death  of  Mr.  Bryant. 


FINAL  DAYS.  751 

attack  on  the  Emperor,  the  congress,  General  Grant's  visit,  and 
an  unusual  amount  of  legation  business.  By  July  4th  I  was  pos 
itively  ill,  and  since  then  have  spent  more  than  half  my  time 
here,  to  get  rest  and  mountain  air.  My  great  trouble  has  been 
gastric,-— very  painful  and  stubborn,  —  but  it  is  now  very  nearly 
overcome,  and  I  am  entirely  rid  of  the  former  mental  and  ner 
vous  fatigue.  So  I  am  gathering  hope  and  courage  again,  and 
the  future  looks  cheery. 

My  position  in  Berlin  is  much  more  agreeable  than  I  antici 
pated.  I  was  received  there  with  quite  unusual  warmth  and 
kindness.  The  Emperor,  Empress,  Crown  Prince,  and  Bismarck 
were  so  markedly  cordial  that  it  gave  the  tone  to  all  the  court 
officials  and  affected  the  diplomatic  circle.  Then  Lindau  gave 
me  a  dinner  to  meet  the  authors  and  artists  of  Berlin,  Rodenberg 
a  journalistic  dinner,  and  at  George  von  Bunsen's  I  sat  opposite 
Curtius,  Mommsen,  Lepsius,  and  Helmholz.  Moreover,  the  lega 
tion  secretaries  turn  out  to  be  thorough  gentlemen,  intelligent, 
methodical,  safe,  and  already  on  the  most  cordial  and  confiding 
terms  with  me.  The  first  establishment  in  my  office  is  thus  most 
auspicious,  and  it  will  be  easy  to  hold  the  ground  already  gained. 
Last  week  I  received  a  stately  diploma  of  my  election  as  Meister 
in  the  Freie  Deutsche  Hochstift,  a  national  literary  guild,  which 
has  its  headquarters  in  the  Goethehaus  at  Frankfort.  You  will 
understand  why  I  mention  all  these  things,  —  to  show  you  that 
the  change  of  place  is  in  all  respects  favorable  and  fortunate. 

I  made  the  acquaintance  of  all  the  members  of  the  congress. 
After  Gortchakoff,  who  greeted  me  as  an  old  friend,  I  was  most 
impressed  by  Beaconsfield.  .  .  .  Mehemet  Ali  Pasha  interested 
me  very  much  :  he  is  amazingly  strong,  simple,  and  natural,  for 
a  man  with  his  history.  But  Bismarck  is  still  a  head  higher  than 
all  these.  I  walked  alone  with  him  in  his  garden  for  more  than 
an  hour,  since  then  have  dined  with  him,  and  now  seem  to  have 
known  him  for  years.  .  .  . 

TO   HIS    MOTHER. 

FRIEDRICHEODA,  July  31,  1878. 

It 's  about  time  that  I  should  write  again.  I  have  left  the  home 
letters  to  M.  and  L.  for  a  month  past,  because  I  was  so  behind 
hand  with  all  my  correspondence.'  I  don't  know  what  M.  has 
written  about  me,  but  I  trust  it  was  nothing  to  make  you  uneasy. 
The  simple  fact  is,  I  did  n't  exactly  know  what  the  particular 
VOL.  ii.  22 


752  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

trouble  was,  and  therefore  ignorantly  did  what  I  should  not  have 
done.  I  was  getting  along  finely  until  just  before  Grant  came. 
There  was  a  great  quantity  of  fruit  in  the  market,  especially 
magnificent  cherries,  and  I  ate  them  twice  a  day.  Besides,  the 
weather  was  very  hot  and  dry,  we  had  much  work  in  the  lega 
tion,  and  I  drank  a  good  deal  of  ice-water.  The  trip  to  meet 
Grant,  in  the  heat  and  'dust,  was  very  fatiguing,  and  I  had  con 
siderable  fever  on  the  night  of  his  arrival.  I  imagined  I  had  a 
touch  of  malaria  in  my  system  ;  so  I  took  a  big  dose  of  quinine 
and  a  hot  lemonade  on  going  to  bed,  and  sweated  furiously  the 
whole  night.  In  the  morning  I  felt  so  wretched  that  I  sent  for 
the  doctor,  whose  first  question  was,  "Have  you  been  eating 
fruit  ?  "  and  the  second,  "  Have  you  been  drinking  ice-water  ?  " 
I  had  done  just  the  wrong  thing  in  taking  quinine  and  sweating. 
I  told  him  I  must  keep  up  during  Grant's  visit,  so  he  gave  me  a 
stomach  medicine  and  prescribed  hunger.  I  went  with  Grant 
that  afternoon  to  the  Crown  Prince,  and  had  to  stand  nearly  an 
hour.  Next  day  we  dined  with  the  Prince  at  Potsdam,  and  I 
took  nothing  but  soup  and  three  stalks  of  asparagus.  On  Satur 
day  we  had  the  reception  for  the  Grants,  on  Sunday  they  dined 
with  us,  and  on  Monday  we  dined  with  Bismarck.  There  I  sat 
between  the  Princess  and  her  daughter,  the  Countess  Marie,  and 
they  were  so  charming  that  I  forgot  all  about  the  doctor's  orders, 
and  ate  of  all  the  courses  !  Bismarck  sat  between  Mrs.  Grant 
and  M.,  opposite.  The  whole  thing  was  delightful. 

Well,  the  Grants  left  on  the  2d,  but  I  was  obliged  to  stay  and 
preside  at  the  American  celebration  on  the  4th.  I  made  two 
short  speeches,  started  the  toasts  at  supper,  and  then  got  away. 
We  came  here  next  day,  and  I  improved  so  rapidly  that  in  ten 
days  I  ventured  to  eat  cucumber  salad.  This  was  a  great  mis 
take.  It  brought  on  an  attack  of  what  would  be  called  "  acute 
dyspepsia  "  in  America.  For  four  days  I  suffered  tortures.  I  felt 
as  if  my  stomach  were  in  a  coffee-mill,  and  slowly  rasped  and 
ground  to  pieces.  It  slowly  passed  away.  I  have  since  been  to 
Berlin,  —  in  fact,  I  left  there  yesterday,  —  and  my  chief  trouble 
now  is  continual  hunger.  You  must  consider  that  I  have  been 
half  starved  for  a  month,  have  become  quite  thin  (for  me),  and 
yet  dare  not  eat  a  great  deal  at  a  time.  I  am  forbidden  to  touch 
fruit,  acids,  or  fat,  must  take  a  glass  of  mixed  champagne  and 
seltzer  three  or  four  times  a  day,  sleep  a  great  deal,  and  walk 
very  little.  My  brain  is  entirely  rested  :  I  have  no  bleeding  at 


FINAL  DAYS.  753 

the  nose,  I  sleep  like  a  log,  do  my  official  work  easily,  and  am 
perfectly  well,  with  the  exception  of  a  slight  feeling  of  oppres 
sion  in  the  stomach  after  meals.  Two  or  three  weeks  more  of 
this  healthy  mountain  life  will  build  me  up  completely.  We 
have  hired  a  carriage  from  Gotha,  and  drive  out  every  day,  rain 
or  shine.  M.  and  L.  are  quite  robust,  and  Mrs.  H.  has  improved 
wonderfully.  There  !  —  you  have  the  full  report  of  my  condi 
tion.  The  trouble  is  so  different  from  what  I  supposed  that  I 
made  it  worse  through  ignorance.  Now  that  I  know  exactly 
what  it  is  I  am  determined  to  have  it  radically  cured  before  I 
stop.  But  the  dieting  is  rather  hard  on  me. 

Shortly  after  this  letter  was  written,  a  remarkable 
improvement  suddenly  showed  itself  in  Bayard  Tay 
lor's  condition,  giving  him  confidence  of  a  speedy  com 
plete  return  to  health. 

TO  JERVIS   MCENTEE. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  August  23,  1878. 
I  have  left  your  most  welcome  and  delightful  letter  two  or 
three  weeks  longer  unanswered  than  I  meant,  but  you  gave  me 
liberty  to  wait,  and  you  won't  object  when  you  know  the  cause  of 
my  delay.  I  was  thoroughly  unwell,  from  sheer  exhaustion, 
when  I  left  home,  but  I  did  n't  know  how  much  nor  exactly  what 
was  the  matter  with  me,  and  it  has  taken  me  a  long  while  to  find 
out.  Instead  of  getting  some  rest  on  reaching  here,  I  was  only 
plunged  into  new  excitements.  The  attacks  on  the  Emperor,  the 
meeting  of  the  European  Congress,  dinners  and  grand  historic  re 
ceptions,  General  Grant's  visit,  and  finally  a  sudden  deluge  of 
official  business,  kept  me  in  a  state  of  constant  tension  ;  and  then, 
unfortunately,  I  did  the  two  things  which  (the  doctors  say)  were 
worst  for  my  condition.  I  drank  ice-water  and  ate  much  fruit ! 
When  I  went  to  the  mountains,  seven  weeks  ago,  I  was  so 
wretched  that  all  reading  and  writing  was  prohibited.  I  suffered 
from  furious  muscular  cramps,  pains  in  the  stomach,  spells  of 
vomiting,  and  a  persistent  feeling  of  sea-sickness  which  made 
food  repulsive.  Until  recently  I  have  been  nearly  starved,  and 
have  surely  lost  twenty  or  thirty  pounds  of  my  weight.  But 
complete  rest,  mountain  air,  and  a  rigorous  diet  have  conquered 
the  demon,  and  I  now  have  my  natural  appetite  and  spirits, 


754  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

though  I  still  live  chiefly  upon  oatmeal,  beef-tea,  raw  eggs,  carp, 
and  venison.  All  wine  was  disagreeable,  and  I  still  only  take  an 
occasional  glass  of  the  oldest  and  best. 

In  two  respects  I  am  most  happily  surprised.  I  like  Berlin 
as  a  place  of  residence  far  better  than  I  expected,  and  I  find  my 
diplomatic  duties  easier,  more  interesting,  and  more  agreea 
ble.  .  .  .  This  place  is  very  dear,  but  our  knowledge  of  German 
life  saves  us  much  money,  and  we  shall  get  along  easily  on  the 
salary.  We  have  taken  an  apartment  of  seventeen  rooms  (in 
cluding  four  elegant  salons  and  a  ball-room  fifty  feet  long  and 
twenty  high)  for  about  82,300  a  year,  but  must  furnish  it  our 
selves,  which  will  be  a  big  outlay  at  the  start.  .  .  . 

Well,  what  shall  I  say  of  all  I  have  seen  and  learned,  since 
that  distracting  evening  off  Sandy  Hook  ?  The  time  has  been 
rich  and  rare  in  experience.  Think  of  seeing  and  talking  with 
Bismarck,  Gortchakoff,  Beaconsfield,  Andrassy,  Waddington, 
Mehemet  Ali  Pasha,  Curtius,  Mommsen,  Lepsius,  Helmholz, 
Grant,  etc.,  etc.,  the  same  day  !  They  are  all  pleasant  and  acces 
sible  people,  but  Bismarck  is  an  amazing  man.  Beaconsfield  was 
very  friendly  :  he  persisted  in  calling  me  "  Sans  peur  et  sans  re- 
proche  "  /  .  .  .  I  shall  not  begin  my  literary  work  until  we  are 
settled  in  our  own  quarters  ;  but  my  brain  is  thoroughly  rested, 
and  I  am  anxious  and  eager  to  write.  The  proofs  of  "  Prince 
Deukalion  "  are  coming  along.  I  have  a  little  more  than  half 
the  poem  in  type,  and  have  also  arranged  for  its  simultaneous 
publication  in  London.  I  wrote  a  new  short  poem  the  other  day, 
and  have  made  four  studies  in  oil  while  in  the  mountains.  I  have 
also  met  Anton  von  Werner,  who  is  painting  the  congress,  and 
shall  meet  Richter  soon.  But  we  have  not  yet  been  able  to  go  to 
the  gallery  ! 

I  must  really  close,  in  order  to  get  to  the  opera  (government 
invitation,  with  ticket  for  proscenium  box  !)  given  for  the  bridal 
couple.  To-morrow  I  am  invited  to  the  high  and  mighty  wed 
ding  at  Potsdam,  and  when  I  tell  you  that  I  nr^.t  stand  up  for 
five  hours  in  a  white  choker  you  will  understand  that  I  am  pass 
ably  well  again.  M.  has  probably  written  to  G.  by  this  time, — 
she  meant  to.  Love  to  G.  and  all  friends. 


FINAL  DAYS.  755 


TO  HIS  MOTHER. 
AMERICAS  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  September  3,  1878. 

...  I  wish  I  had  time  to  describe  to  you  the  royal  wedding  at 
Potsdam.  I  not  only  stood  out  the  whole  performance,  but  ate 
lobster  salad  at  the  supper.  It  was  a  superb  sight,  —  seventy  or 
eighty  pages  in  scarlet  and  silver,  giant  grenadiers  seven  feet 
high,  court  officials  in  gorgeous  uniforms,  a  blaze  of  jewelry,  a 
dance  with  torches,  illumination  of  the  palaces  and  parks,  etc., 
etc.  I  was  the  only  one  present  in  plain  evening  dress  ;  and 
part  of  my  duty  was  to  march  across  the  grand  hall,  bow  to  the 
bridal  couple,  then  to  the  King  of  Holland,  and  finally  to  the 
Crown  Prince  and  Princess.  I  went  out  and  back  in  a  special 
train,  and  we  were  all  provided  with  carriages.  But  I  took  my 
German  man,  Karl,  along  with  me,  and  he  looked  out  for  my  in 
terests  in  the  shrewdest  way.  I  was  n't  a  bit  fatigued  the  next 
day,  but  wrote  a  letter  of  eleven  quarto  pages  to  M.,  describing 
the  whole  matter.  The  same  day  I  rescued  a  noted  American 
manufacturer  from  prison  by  going  there  and  threatening  the 
police  officials.  The  next  day  an  officer  came  to  report  to  me 
that  the  charge  was  a  mistake.  But  we  have  no  end  of  bother 
with  unprotected  American  women,  who  are  not  fit  to  go  a  mile 
from  home,  they  are  so  utterly  helpless,  and  always  come  to  the 
legation  to  shed  their  tears.  I  generally  turn  them  over  to  Mr. 
C.,  upon  whom  falls  the  first  shower,  and  then,  if  necessary,  I 
see  them  when  they  dry  up. 

We  find  a  great  change  hi  fruit  and  vegetables  since  we  were 
in  Germany  before.  Tomatoes  are  plenty  at  twenty-five  cents  a 
pound,  and  we  have  them  sliced  or  stewed  every  day.  Very 
large,  excellent  peaches  cost  six  cents  apiece,  and  plums  and 
greengages  are  as  cheap  as  blackberries  at  home.  We  only  miss 
green  corn,  and  must  be  satisfied  with  canned. 

The  carp  .here  are  specially  good,  and  sea-fish  come  quite  fresh 
from  the  coast.  Partridges  (our  pheasants)  are  only  thirty-seven 
cents  apiece,  and  venison  is  about  the  same  as  beef.  When  we 
get  into  our  new  quarters,  I  think  we  shall  live  very  pleasantly. 
The  stately  old  door-keeper  died  there,  two  weeks  ago,  and  his 
last  words  were,  " Frau  Excellency"  (meaning  M.),  "the  rooms 
are  all  cleaned." 


756  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Although  the  spirit  in  which  Bayard  wrote  home  to 
his  mother  and  various  friends  throughout  the  sum 
mer  was  one  of  cheerfulness  and  hope,  his  actual  con 
dition  was  far  from  inspiring  confidence  in  those 
about  him.  With  his  strong  aversion  from  every 
form  of  sickness,  he  refused  to  admit  to  himself  the 
low  tone  of  his  system,  and  the  constant  acute  attacks 
which  gave  warning  of  his  disordered  condition  were 
met  and  overcome  successively  without  leaving  him 
really  aware  of  his  danger.  He  was  bidden  to  take 
rest  in  the  country.  Especially  he  was  advised  to 
take  the  waters  at  Karlsbad ;  but  to  do  this  he  must 
go  beyond  the  border,  and  he  would  not  ask  permis 
sion  for  this  from  his  government  so  shortly  after  com 
ing  into  office.  He  so  far  followed  the  advice  of  his 
physicians  as  to  go  with  his  family  to  Friedrichroda, 
but  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  remain  there  for  any 
length  of  time.  He  was  extremely  conscientious  about 
his  official  work.  His  efficient  and  considerate  secre 
taries  were  entirely  willing  to  relieve  him  of  all  bur 
dens,  but  he  insisted  on  making  repeated  visits  to 
Berlin  and  staying  there  in  the  heat  of  summer,  at 
tending  to  the  work  of  the  legation.  He  had  made  a 
good  beginning,  and  he  had  a  pride  in  representing 
the  United  States  with  honor  and  thoroughly  business 
faithfulness.  Nor  was  he  wanting  in  opportunity. 
There  were  many  cases,  especially  of  naturalized  Ger 
man  citizens  who  had  returned  to  Germany  and  fallen 
into  difficulties,  which  called  for  delicate  and  wise 
management.  Bayard  Taylor's  course  in  the  Ganzen- 
miiller  and  other  cases  did  not  save  him  from  frequent 
abuse  at  the  hands  of  intemperate  German-American 
journals,  but  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
he  maintained  the  dignity  of  his  country. 


FINAL  DAYS.  757 


TO   MRS.    R.    H.    STODDARD. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION, 
67  BEIIRENSTRASSE,  BERLIN,  September  10, 1878. 

Your  most  welcome  and  unexpected  letter  came  yesterday.  I 
had  really  almost  given  up  the  hope  of  hearing  soon  from  either 

you  or .     How  much  you  tell  us  !     The  whole  old  life  is 

more  clearly  revived  by  you  than  by  any  one  else  who  has  writ 
ten  to  me,  and  both  M.  and  I  dipped  into  your  twelve  pages  as 
into  a  refreshing  bath. 

You  will  have  guessed,  from  all  that  has  happened,  that  there 
was  no  rest  for  me  until  about  two  months  ago.  General  Grant's 
visit  came,  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  breaking-up  of  the  congress, 
and  my  final  break-down.  ...  I  went  to  the  mountains  near 
Gotha  and  vegetated,  suffering  horrible  tortures  from  an  affec 
tion  of  the  nerves  of  the  stomach,  occasioned,  the  doctor  said, 
by  long-continued  mental  and  nervous  wear  and  tear.  About 
the  loth  of  August  the  trouble  left  me,  and  since  then  I  soar  like 
a  lark.  I  have  not  felt  so  bright  and  fresh  for  years.  ...  I  have 
mastered  the  whole  routine  of  official  business,  and  everything 
now  runs  easily  and  smoothly.  Society  has  left  Berlin  until  Oc 
tober  ;  the  climate  is  delicious  ;  we  have  an  excellent  cook  ;  par 
tridges  are  thirty-six  cents  apiece,  large  carp  fifty  cents,  plenty  of 
tomatoes,  and  Rhine  wine  of  good  quality  thirty  cents  a  bottle  ! 

We  have  a  job  on  hand,  furnishing  our  residence,  into  which 
we  move  October  1st.  We  can't  get  furnished  lodgings  here,  and 
must  buy  everything.  .  .  .  Our  knowledge  of  German  ways  and 
prices  is  an  immense  advantage  ;  without  it  we  could  not  live  on 
the  salary,  big  as  it  seems.  There  is  a  great  rush  of  Americans 
here,  and  most  of  them  expect  some  attention  ;  but  so  far  I  have 
only  had  pleasant  experiences.  Fiske  has  just  left,  after  twelve 
days  with  us  ;  Boyesen  and  wife  will  be  here  a  month  yet.  Gov 
ernor  Howard  of  Rhode  Island  (one  of  the  two  men  who  know 
all  my  poems  !)  left  to-day,  and  others  are  coming  and  going  all 
the  time. 

M.  will  agree  with  you  about  Beaconsfield.  I  introduced  her 
to  him,  and  she  was  greatly  impressed  by  his  personality.  He 
was  very  complimentary  to  me,  and  made  himself  quite  agreea 
ble.  He  is  what  Goethe  calls  a  "  daimonic  (not  demoniac  /)  na 
ture,"  —  possessed  with  a  strange,  weird  spirit.  I  never  before 
saw  a  man  in  whom  tact  was  inspiration.  .  .  . 


758  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Poor  Mehemet  All  Pasha  !  I  had  some  long  talks  with  him 
during  the  congress,  liked  him  immensely,  and  now  he  is  mur 
dered  in  Albania.  ... 

TO  SAMUEL  BANCROFT,   JR. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION, 
67  BEHRENSTRASSE,  BERLIN,  September  15,  1878. 

I  wish  all  my  friends  at  home  were  as  considerate  as  you  !  I 
don't  think  they  forget  me,  or  grow  the  least  indifferent  through 
absence,  but  they  don't  recognize  how  rapidly  the  days  go  by, 
and  how  welcome  all  home  news  is  to  me.  Since  I  last  wrote  I 
have  entirely  turned  the  corner  of  my  physical  troubles,  and  you 
would  be  surprised  to  see  that  twenty-five  pounds  taken  off  my 
weight  makes  me  look  almost  graceful !  I  am  really  better 
than  for  two  years  past,  and  now  mean  to  screw  up  my  upper 
stories  (as  they  did  the  houses  in  Chicago,  by  some  hydraulic 
contrivance),  and  build  a  new  basis  under  them.  I  can't  eat 
quite  enough  yet,  but  my  "  misery  "  is  a  tiling  of  the  past,  and 
my  spirits  are  wholly  of  the  future  ;  which  is  as  it  should  be. 
Somebody  said  the  other  day  that  I  looked  distingue.  I  should 
think  so  !  One  might  as  well  be  punched  by  a  pugilist  without 
getting  a  black  eye  as  go  through  my  experience  for  a  year  past 
without  showing  some  signs  thereof  in  the  "  thunder-scarred  " 
visage  ! 

If  you  were  to  see  me  now,  as  I  drive  down  the  Linden  daily, 
in  an  equipage  prescribed  by  the  effete  monarchies  of  Europe,  I 
doubt  whether  you  would  recognize  me.  I  usually  wear  a  stove 
pipe  hat  of  twice  the  usual  height  (which  indicates  a  foreign 
minister),  a  black  velvet  coat  embroidered  with  gold,  blue  satin 
vest,  lemon-tinted  pantaloons,  pearly-gray  gloves,  patent-leather 
boots  with  gilded  tips,  and  a  white  cravat  fastened  with  a  sap 
phire  brooch.  I  carry  a  small  ebony  cane,  have  my  mustache 
waxed  into  sharp  points,  and  slightly  powder  my  face  to  give  me 
an  aristocratic  paleness.  But  I  am  not  proud.  When  the 
guards  at  the  Brandenburg  Gate  rush  out  to  present  arms,  I 
slightly  wave  my  hand,  as  to  say,  "  I  do  not  exact  it !  "  and  they 
retire  abashed.  Of  course  it  is  onerous  to  appear  in  this  man 
ner  ;  but  the  dignity  of  our  government  does  not  allow  me  to 
depart  from  the  established  rules.  (I  protest  :  this  will  be 
taken  as  gospel  fifty  years  hence,  when  autograph  dealers  get 
hold  of  it.  M.  T.) 


FINAL  DAYS.  759 

You  see  how  I  am  interrupted,  and  all  my  fine  description 
snubbed.  Such  is  the  lot  of  all  married  men,  as  your  own  M. 
will  admit.  Well,  to  come  down  to  the  gross  realism  of  life, 'we 
are  over  head  and  ears  in  preparations  for  completely  furnishing 
our  new  residence,  into  which  we  must  move  in  two  weeks.  (The 
address  is  already  at  the  head  of  this  letter.)  We  have  to  fur 
nish  seventeen  rooms,  five  of  them  large  state  salons  ;  but  I  have 
economized  carefully,  and  hope  to  carry  the  expense.  By  going 
ourselves  and  buying  everything  directly,  instead  of  engaging 
the  cormorant  tribe  of  furnishers  here,  we  have  saved  from  fifty 
to  seventy  per  cent.,  and  I  think  we  shall  make  as  good  a  show 
as  any  legation  in  Berlin.  I  am  very  anxious  to  move,  for  I  long 
to  arrange  my  private  library  and  go  straight  to  work.  I  have 
just  sent  home  an  "  Epicedium  "  on  Bryant,  for  the  coming  Cen 
tury  Club  commemoration,  but  have  n't  the  slightest  idea  whether 
it 's  good  or  not.  I  have  also  written  another  poem,  half  fable, 
which  seems  to  me  good.1  The  "  Prince  Deukalion "  is  all  in 
type,  proofs  read,  and  everything  ready  for  your  vellum.2  Type 
and  general  arrangement  are  lovely.  Triibner  will  bring  it  out 
simultaneously  in  London.  Since  I  wrote,  I  have  attended  the 
royal  wedding  in  Potsdam,  —  a  sight  to  see  !  —  and  had  to  take 
part  in  the  single-file  official  procession.  I  saw  my  Grand-Ducal 
Weimar  friends,  and  had  a  most  cordial  greeting  :  something 
for  the  Goethe  will  come  o'  that  !  The  royal  people  also  twice 
gave  me  tickets  for  the  opera.  But  society  has  n't  come  back 
yet  ;  only  there 's  a  great  rush  of  traveling  Americans,  nearly 
all  reputable  people,  good  specimens,  whom  I  am  glad  to  see. 
Professor  Fiske  of  Cornell  was  my  guest  for  twelve  days  ; 
Boyesen  and  his  wife  are  here  ;  and  Governor  Howard  of  Rhode 
Island,  with  family,  have  just  left.  The  climate  now  is  simply 
delightful ;  I  like  Berlin  more  and  more,  —  and  I  more  than 
half  like  my  official  duties.  When  I  fairly  reach  my  literary 
task,  I  shall  and  must  be  happy.  I  can't  write  more  now,  and 
can't  promise  to  write  very  regularly,  but  you  '11  understand. 
We  all  join  in  love  to  you  all. 

1  "The  Village  Stork." 

2  Mr.  Bancroft  manufactured  the  cloth  used  in  binding  the  volume. 


760  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


TO   WHITELAW   REID. 

AMERICAN  LEGATION, 
67  BEHRENSTRASSE,  BERLIN,  September  24,  1878. 

.  .  .  Mr.  R.  called  on  Saturday  with  your  letter.  I  remembered 
him,  invited  him  to  dinner  last  evening,  and  tried  to  do  what  I 
could  to  make  his  stay  pleasant.  It  was  very  short,  however  ; 
he  left  to-day.  I  gave  him  a  few  hints  of  the  trouble  which  I 
have  with  naturalized  German- Americans,  and  the  abuse  which 
I  expect  to  get  from  the  German  papers  in  the  United  States. 
In  fact,  the  abuse  has  begun,  as  in  the  cases  of  Bancroft  and 
Davis.  Nineteen  twentieths  of  the  business  of  this  legation  is 
occasioned  by  that  class  of  people.  They  make  preposterous 
claims,  write  insulting  letters,  never  thank  me  for  aid,  and  yet 
are  backed  up  at  home  by  every  German  paper.  I  foresaw  this 
result,  and  am  not  greatly  surprised.  In  point  of  fact,  I  have 
gone  farther  to  help  the  German- Americans  than  any  one  has 
done  since  the  treaty  of  '68.  My  action  is  effectual  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten.  I  have  taken  a  strong,  clear,  decided  stand,  as 
my  dispatches  to  the  State  Department  will  show  ;  and  almost 
every  mail  brings  me  a  vile,  outrageous  article  in  an  envelope, 
evidently  sent  by  the  editor  !  Such  is  life. 

I  like  Berlin  more  and  more.  We  shall  move  into  our  own 
quarters  in  four  or  five  days,  and  be  finally  at  home  here.  The 
society  is  very  intelligent  and  agreeable,  and  my  official  duties, 
though  sometimes  onerous,  are  not  repellent  to  my  taste.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  a  kind  of  business  which  I  like,  because  it  deals 
with  laws  and  principles  ;  and  even  the  minor  routine  of  legation 
work  possesses  a  certain  amount  of  interest.  I  am  now  sure  of 
securing  two  to  three  hours  a  day  for  myself,  which  is  all  I  need, 
and  I  have  the  most  delightful  and  generous  offers  of  assistance 
(in  regard  to  the  Life  of  Goethe)  from  all  sides.  Count  Usedom 
the  other  day  presented  me  with  a  cast  taken  from  Goethe's  liv 
ing  face,  —  a  most  rare  and  precious  gift.  .  .  . 

TO   HIS   FATHER   AND   MOTHER. 

67  BEHRENSTRASSE,  BERLIN,  October  1,  1878. 

I  ought  to  have  written  two  days  ago,  when  I  had  more  time. 
We  moved  yesterday,  and  are  still  in  a  perfect  chaos.  None  of 
the  people  keep  their  promises,  the  rooms  are  all  upside  down, 
and  we  have  scarcely  a  place  to  receive  a  visitor. 


FINAL  DAYS.  761 

But  I  must  at  least  say  how  sorry  we  all  are  not  to  be  present 
at  the  sixtieth  anniversary.  It  is  a  wonderfully  rare  one,  and  we 
hope  it  will  be  made  pleasant  to  you  in  every  possible  way.  I 
am  glad  to  hear  that,  except  your  rheumatic  troubles,  you  keep 
so  well  and  cheerful.  Your  lives  have  been  laborious  and  event 
ful,  but  not  unsatisfactory,  and  you  may  enjoy  your  years  of  rest 
with  a  clear  conscience.  We  shall  all  remember  you  on  the  15th, 
and  shall  be  present  in  spirit. 

The  month  of  comparative  restoration  to  health  was 
followed  by  a  sudden  change  for  the  worse,  and  the 
anxiety  regarding  Bayard  Taylor's  condition  now  led 
to  a  consultation  of  physicians  on  October  12th,  and 
the  result  was  a  decision  that  the  disease  under  which 
he  was  suffering  was  constipation  of  the  liver*  As  a 
last  chance  of  recovery  he  was  ordered  to  go  to  Karls 
bad  at  once.  He  was  not,  however,  at  first  informed 
of  the  very  critical  condition  in  which  the  doctors 
found  him,  and  wrote  home  with  his  usual  cheerful 
ness  and  confidence. 

TO   HIS   MOTHER. 
AMERICAN  LEGATION,  BERLIN,  October  15,  1878. 

It  is  a  lovely  day  here  for  your  diamond  wedding,  and  I  hope 
it 's  as  pleasant  at  Cedarcroft,  We  shall  all  be  thinking  of  you, 
and  wondering  what  is  going  on,  and  who  all  are  there,  etc.,  etc. 
I  am  very  sorry  we  can't  be  present  with  the  rest,  but  hope  that 
we  shall  not  be  much  missed  in  person,  since  we  have  sent  repre 
sentatives,  and  also  mean  to  speak  three  words  by  telegraph, 
which  I  hope  will  reach  you  at  breakfast  or  soon  after. 

M.  tells  me  she  has  written  to  you  about  our  going  to  Karlsbad. 
I  am  greatly  relieved  to  know  at  last  the  exact  cause  of  my  trou 
ble,  and  to  have  a  certain  cure  for  it.  I  have  been  drinking  the 
water  here  for  two  days  past,  and  feel  already  very  differently. 
The  two  doctors  say  that  if  it  were  spring  instead  of  fall  I  need 
not  go  ;  but  I  shall  get  well  so  much  more  rapidly  by  going  now 
that  they  advise  it  strongly.  I  don't  suppose  that  I  need  stay 
longer  than  three  weeks.  I  can  now  see  that  my  trouble  in  the 
stomach  came  mostly  from  the  liver.  .  .  .  The  fact  that  I  was  so 


762  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

much  better  until  I  took  cold  two  weeks  ago  shows  that  the  liver 
is  not  seriously  affected. 

This  was  the  last  letter  which  Bayard  Taylor  was 
to  write  to  his  mother.  He  was  already  in  great  pain 
when  writing  it,  and  later,  on  the  same  day,  another 
consultation  was  held,  when  it  was  decided  that  it 
would  be  useless  for  him  to  go  to  Karlsbad,  and  that 
the  removal  would  only  hasten  the  progress  of  the 
disease ;  for  dropsy  had  developed,  and  a  week  later 
an  operation  was  performed  for  the  sufferer's  relief. 
From  this  time  forward  the  fatal  disease  made  steady 
inroads  upon  his  vitality.  His  indomitable  will  still 
struggled  against  the  inevitable.  He  rose  and  was 
dressed  each  day,  and  went  to  his  library.  There  were 
the  materials  for  the  work  to  which  he  had  looked  for 
ward  so  eagerly,  but  he  could  not  touch  them.  Once 
in  the  summer  he  had  made  a  faint  attempt,  but 
he  was  already  too  ill  to  make  any  real  beginning. 
Since  so  large  part  of  his  material  was  stored  in  his 
memory  alone,  to  work  on  the  Life  was  not  to  make 
an  industrious  compilation  from  published  or  written 
papers,  but  to  construct  in  a  harmonious  whole  a 
work  which  already  lay  in  his  mind.  To  do  this, 
however,  was  to  bend  all  the  energies  of  his  nature 
to  a  great  task.  This  he  could  no  longer  do.  He 
had  written  two  poems  since  coming  to  Germany. 
When  driving  from  Gotha  to  Friedrichroda  he  used 
to  pass  through  the  little  village  of  Wahlwinkel,  where 
he  saw  in  the  gable  of  a  peasant's  house  a  stork's  nest 
which  had  been  there  from  time  immemorial.  Out  of 
that  grew  his  poem  "  The  Village  Stork."  The  reader 
who  looks  between  the  lines  can  easily  follow  the 
thought  which  must  have  been  dwelling  in  the  poet's 
mind,  —  his  own  wanderings  in  Egypt  and  Greece, 


FINAL  DAYS.  763 

his  long  struggle  with  untoward  fate,  the  slow  recog 
nition  of  his  power,  and  even  now  the  uncertain  hold 
which  he  had  upon  the  popular  mind  in  his  own  most 
cherished  vocation.  The  last  verses  which  he  wrote 
were  those  of  his  "  Epicedium,"  written  in  September 
to  be  read  at  the  Century  Memorial  to  William  Cul- 
len  Bryant. 

From  time  to  time  in  the  early  weeks  of  his  last 
illness  he  drove  out  in  pleasant  weather,  but  for  the 
most  part  he  kept  his  room,  seeing  few  people,  but 
going  through  the  necessary  work  of  the  legation.  As 
the  office  was  in  his  house,  this  duty  was  made  easier 
for  him ;  and  his  secretaries  visited  him  for  instruction 
or  his  signature,  as  circumstances  might  require. 

It  was  after  the  disease  had  set  in,  but  before  its 
fatal  nature  had  declared  itself,  that  he  had  a  visit 
from  Mr.  H.  H.  Boyesen,  who  has  recorded  in  his 
"  Reminiscences  of  Bayard  Taylor "  l  a  conversation 
which  he  had  with  him.  The  talk  turned  upon 
Goethe,  and  Bayard  Taylor,  recurring  to  a  thought 
which  always  strongly  affected  him,  said,  — 

"  It  is  odd  how  deeply  rooted  the  idea  is  among  our 
people  that  because  a  man  is  a  good  novelist  he  must 
necessarily  be  a  bad  poet  or  dramatist,  and  if  he  i§ 
a  good  poet  his  novels  or  his  dramas  deserve  only 
censure.  A  man  like  Goethe,  whose  rich  nature  de 
manded  such  manifold  and  various  expression,  would 
never  be  comprehended  by  our  reviewers.  They 
would  damn  c  Faust '  because  '  Werther '  had  been  a 
success.  '  Now  you  made  such  a  hit  with  your  novel,' 
they  would  say,  '  why  don't  you  stick  to  that  in  which 
you  have  excelled,  instead  of  trying  your  unskilled 
hand  on  something  which  you  don't  understand  ? 9 

1  LippincotV s  Magazine,  August,  1879. 


764  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

Novel-writing,  poetry,  travels,  the  drama,  are  con 
ceived  to  be  each  a  separate  trade,  and  to  be  a  poet 
and  a  novelist  at  the  same  time  is  in  the  eyes  of  our 
critics  about  as  anomalous  as  it  would  be  to  combine 
the  practice  of  law  and  medicine,  or  to  profess  equal 
skill  in  carpentry  and  shoemaking.  The  Germans 
have  a  much  nobler  conception  of  the  vocation  of  a 
man  of  letters.  If  he  be  an  imaginative  writer,  no 
matter  of  what  kind,  they  call  him  Dichter,  and  they 
leave  the  whole  field  of  imaginative  writing  at  his  dis 
posal.  If  Paul  Heyse,  who  began  as  a  novelist,  writes  a 
drama  or  a  poem,  it  does  not  in  the  least  disturb  them. 
So  also  Gustav  Freytag  has  gained  an  equal  success 
on  the  stage  and  as  a  writer  of  romances.  Goethe  and 
Schiller  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  define  their 
proper  specialty.  Their  vocation  was  that  of  Dicliter, 
and  they  selected  the  form  which  suited  best  the  idea 
they  wished  to  develop.  Their  occasional  hesitation 
between  two  literary  forms  thus  becomes  perfectly  in 
telligible." 

His  own  latest  work,  "  Prince  Deukalion,"  was  pub 
lished  in  November,  and  he  held  a  copy  of  the  book  in 
his  hands.  He  had  not  thought  to  receive  much  pop 
ular  applause  from  a  poem  so  serious  in  its  plan,  so 
weighty  in  its  poetic  thought,  but  he  knew  that  there 
were  some,  the  poets  whom  he  knew  and  loved,  who 
would  share  with  him  its  high  purpose.  Two  such 
wrote  him  from  America,  and  their  letters,  among  the 
last  which  he  received,  were  witnesses  to  that  steadfast 
purpose  which  he  had  kept  through  life,  of  reaching 
after  the  highest  expression  of  his  highest  nature. 
"  It  is  a  great  poem,"  writes  Mr.  Whittier,  —  "  how 
great  I  hardly  dare  venture  to  say.  To  me  it  recalls 
the  grand  dramas  of  the  immortal  Greeks,  not  so 


FINAL  DAYS.  765 

much  in  resemblance  as  in  its  solemnity  and  power. 
I  rejoice  that  such  a  poem  is  thine." 

So  strong  was  Bayard  Taylor's  own  spirit  of  hope 
that  those  who  were  about  him  shared  it  so  long  as  they 
dared.  The  disease  had  taken  a  fatal  turn  about  the 
middle  of  November,  and  from  that  time  on  his  suffer 
ings  were  intense.  They  were  borne  with  an  heroic 
patience  which  called  forth  admiration  from  all  around 
him,  especially  from  his  faithful  attendant  physician, 
Dr.  Lowe.  No  word  of  complaint  ever  escaped  the 
sufferer's  lips.  About  the  middle  of  December  one  of 
those  delusive  appearances  of  improvement  which  be 
long  to  the  disease  occurred,  and  seemed  at  the  time  to 
puzzle  even  the  attendant  physicians.  On  the  14th 
he  felt  so  much  better  that  he  called  for  paper  and 
pencil  to  draft  a  dispatch  to  the  foreign  office  in  reply 
to  a  message  of  sympathy  which  had  been  conveyed 
to  him  from  the  Emperor. 

On  the  17th  a  rapid  change  began,  which  was  cru 
elly  deceptive  in  its  first  form ;  for  though  his  attend 
ants  knew  the  contrary,  a  sudden  relief  conveyed  to 
Bayard  Taylor  the  delusive  hope  that  he  had  passed 
through  a  crisis  and  was  now  to  get  well.  It  was  in 
reality  a  premonition  of  the  immediate  end.  It  was 
followed  by  extreme  pain,  which  brought  with  it  a 
bitter  disappointment.  On  the  19th,  after  restless 
ness  and  wandering  of  mind,  he  was  in  his  chair, 
where  he  now  spent  most  of  his  time.  His  will  flamed 
out  in  one  final  burst.  "  I  want,"  —  he  began,  and 
found  it  impossible  to  make  his  want  known  or 
guessed  until  suddenly  he  broke  forth,  "  I  want,  oh,  you 
know  what  I  mean,  that  stuff  of  life  !  "  It  was  like 
Goethe's  cry,  the  despair  of  one  groping  for  that  which 
had  always  been  his  in  large  measure.  At  two  in 


T66  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

the  afternoon  he  fell  asleep,  and  at  four  o'clock  gently 
breathed  his  last. 


On  the  22d  of  December  the  Americans  then  in 
Berlin,  representatives  of  literature,  science,  and  art 
in  Germany,  the  diplomatic  corps,  and  the  Emperor's 
special  messengers  gathered  at  the  American  Embassy 
to  pay  the  last  honor^  to  the  dead  poet.  The  Rev.  J.  P. 
Thompson,  D.  D.,  addressed  the  assembly,  using  largely 
the  expressions  of  "  Prince  Deukalion."  Then  one  of 
Bayard  Taylor's  own  fraternity,  Berthold  Auerbach, 
spoke  as  a  poet,  turning  to  his  friend  and  fellow-poet : 

"  Here,  under  flowers  that  grew  in  German  soil, 
lies  the  mortal  frame  tenanted  for  fifty-three  years  by 
the  richly-endowed  genius  whom  men  knew  as  Bayard 
Taylor.  Thy  name  will  be  spoken  by  coming  genera 
tions,  who  never  looked  into  thy  kindly,  winning  face, 
never  grasped  thy  faithful  hand,  never  heard  a  word 
from  thy  eloquent  lips.  Yet  no :  the  breath  of  the 
mouth  is  exhaled  and  lost,  but  thy  word,  thy  poet- 
word,  is  abiding.  On  behalf  of  those  whom  thou 
hast  left  behind,  urged  by  my  affection  as  thy  oldest 
friend  in  the  Old  World,  as  thou  didst  often  call  me, 
and  as  a  representative  of  German  literature,  I  send 
after  thee  loving  words  of  farewell.  What  thou  hast 
become  and  shalt  continue  to  be  in  the  realms  of 
mind  after  ages  will  determine.  To-day  our  hearts 
are  thrilled  with  grief  and  lamentation,  and  yet  with 
exaltation  too.  Thou  wast  born  in  the  fatherland  of 
Benjamin  Franklin ;  and,  like  him,  thou  didst  work 
thy  way  upward  from  a  condition  of  lowly  labor  to 
be  an  apostle  of  the  spirit  of  purity  and  freedom,  and 


FINAL  DAYS.  767 

a  representative  of  thy  people  among  a  foreign  peo 
ple.  No,  not  among  a  foreign  people  :  thou  art  as 
one  of  ourselves;  thou  hast  died  in  the  country  of 
Goethe,  to  whose  lofty  spirit  thou  didst  ever  turn  with 
devotion ;  thou  hast  erected  a  monument  to  him  be 
fore  thy  people,  and  wouldst  erect  before  all  peoples 
another,  which,  alas !  is  lost  with  thee.  But  thou 
thyself  wast  and  art  one  of  those  whom  he  foretold,  a 
disciple  of  a  universal  literature,  in  which,  high  above 
all  bounds  of  nationality,  in  the  free,  limitless  ether, 
the  purely  human  soars  on  daring  pinions  sunwards  in 
ever  new  poetic  forms.  As  from  one  power  to  another, 
so  wast  thou  the  accredited  envoy  from  one  realm  of 
mind  to  another;  and  even  in  thy  latest  work  thou 
dost  show  that  thou  livedst  in  that  religion  which  em 
braces  all  confessions,  and  takes  not  the  name  of  one 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest.  Nature  gave  thee  a  form 
full  of  grace  and  power,  a  spirit  full  of  clearness  and 
chaste  cheerfulness,  and  the  grace  of  melodious  speech 
to  set  forth  the  movements  and  emotions  springing 
from  the  eternal  and  never-fathomed  source  of  being, 
as  well  as  from  the  fleeting  and  never-exhausted  joys 
of  wedded  and  paternal  love,  of  friendship,  of  the  in 
spiration  of  nature,  of  patriotism,  and  of  the  ever- 
ascending  revelations  of  human  history.  Born  in  the 
New  World,  ripened  in  the  old,  —  and  alas !  severed 
so  early  from  the  tree  of  life !  Thou  didst  teach  thy 
people  the  history  of  the  German  people,  that  they, 
being  brothers,  should  know  one  another ;  we  bear 
that  in  our  memories.  Thou  didst  put  into  words  of 
song  thy  people's  outburst  of  joy  at  their  centennial 
festival ;  when  it  returns  again,  and  our  own  mortal 
frames  lie  motionless  like  thine  here  before  us,  then 
from  millions  of  lips  yet  unborn  will  resound  again 

VOL.  ii.  23 


T68  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 

the  name  of  BAYARD  TAYLOR.     Thy  memory  shall 
be  blessed ! " 


The  sarcophagus  was  deposited  in  the  Jerusalem 
cemetery  whence  it  was  removed  in  March.  It  arrived 
in  America  March  13,  1879.  It  was  a  Thursday,  the 
day  on  which  he  had  died  ;  and  at  the  hour  in  the  af 
ternoon  when  he  breathed  his  last  in  Germany,  the 
remains  of  Bayard  Taylor  were  brought  from  the  ship 
to  his  native  shore,  as  if  no  interval  had  elapsed. 
Even  here  his  second  country  followed  him,  for  the 
remains  were  escorted  to  the  City  Hall  in  New  York 
by  members  of  German  singing  societies  and  by  dele 
gations  from  other  associations.  At  the  City  Hall  the 
coffin  was  taken  from  the  funeral  car  and  a  dirge  sung 
over  it  by  the  German  societies.  Thousands  of  per 
sons  had  gathered  on  news  of  the  arrival,  and  stood 
attendant  upon  the  solemnities.  It  was  Germany  giv 
ing  back  to  America  in  sorrow  the  son  whom  America 
had  sent  forth  with  rejoicing.  An  oration  was  deliv 
ered  by  the  Hon.  Algernon  S.  Sullivan,  and  the  re 
mains  were  placed  in  state  in  the  Governor's  room  of 
the  City  Hall,  where  they  were  in  the  custody  of  a 
guard  of  honor  from  the  Koltes  Post,  Grand  Army  of 
the  Republic.  The  same  guard  escorted  them  to  the 
railway  station  the  next  day,  when  they  were  removed 
to  Cedarcroft. 

The  poet  lay  in  the  house  which  he  had  built  until 
the  day  following,  when,  after  addresses  by  Rev.  Dr. 
Furness  and  Dr.  Frank  Taylor  at  the  house,  he 
was  borne  by  a  funeral  procession  for  three  miles  to 
the  cemetery  at  Longwood.  The  pall-bearers  were  se 
lected  from  his  literary  associates  and  his  earliest 
friends.  From  all  the  country  side  his  old  friends  and 


FINAL  DAYS.  769 

neighbors,  to  the  number  of  four  thousand,  stood  and 
listened  to  the  funeral  service,  which  was  read  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  H.  N.  Powers,  and  to  a  few  words  from  the 
Rev.  Dr.  W.  H.  Furness  and  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman.  A 
burial  ode  was  sung  by  a  Kennett  chorus. 

Bayard  Taylor  lies  buried  in  the  country  he  loved 
so  well,  amongst  his  own  kinsfolk  to  whom  he  had 
been  so  loyal.  A  wider  fame  and  the  meaning  of  his 
life  are  symbolized  in  the  monument  above  him  and  in 
the  plants  which  guard  his  grave.  A  Greek  altar  of 
the  Doric  order  bears  upon  its  frieze  the  words  "  He 
being  dead  yet  speaketh."  Upon  the  face  of  the  cir 
cular  stone  is  a  bronze  medallion  of  his  head  by  Launt 
Thompson,  surmounted  by  a  carven  wreath  of  oak 
leaves  and  bay, —  emblematic  of  civic  and  poetic  hon 
ors.  Upon  the  reverse  are  the  lines  from  "  Prince 
Deukalion" :  — 

For  Life,  whose  source  not  here  began, 

Must  fill  the  utmost  sphere  of  Man, 

And,  so  expanding,  lifted  be 

Along  the  line  of  God's  decree, 

To  find  in  endless  growth  all  good,  — 

In  endless  toil,  beatitude. 

When  the  sarcophagus  was  brought  to  the  steamer 
at  Hamburg,  some  evergreens  in  pots  were  found  at  its 
side.  It  was  not  known  and  never  has  been  learned 
whence  they  came.  They  followed  the  body  to  its  last 
resting-place,  and  there  were  set  out  in  the  sod.  They 
came  from  unknown  hands.  They  stand  by  the  grave, 
witnessing  to  that  affection  and  veneration  which  were 
paid  to  Bayard  Taylor  by  numberless  persons  whom 
he  never  knew  or  saw  ;  their  living  green  is  a  sign  of 
that  unfading  memory  which  will  be  renewed  with 
every  fresh  generation  of  lovers  of  poetry  and  honor- 
ers  of  noble  aspiration. 


INDEX. 


ACHMET,  B.  T.'s  dragoman  on  the  Nile  ; 
good  qualities  of,  223  ;  his  belief  in 
B.  T.'s  good  luck,  226 ;  welcomes  B. 
T.  again,  245 ;  B.  T.  meets  him  again 
in  a  daguerreotype,  309 ;  B.  T.  meets 
him  again  in  Egypt,  648. 

Adams,  Charles  Francis,  correspondence 
with  B.  T.,  409. 

Adams,  John  Quincy,  funeral  of,  123. 

Agatha,  St.,  festival  of,  in  Sicily,  238. 

Agnew,  Mary,  a  child-companion  of  B. 
T.,  22  ;  in  his  mind  when  he  publishes 
his  first  volume  of  poetry,  32  ;  engage 
ment  to  B.  T.,  72 ;  her  personal  ap 
pearance  and  influence  over  B.  T.,  73  ; 
the  value  of  her  correspondence  with 
B.  T.,  74  ;  her  frail  constitution,  81  ; 
her  closeness  of  sympathy  with  B.  T., 
91 ;  her  hopes  of  new  strength,  93 ; 
her  impressions  of  George  Sand,  124 ; 
marriage  postponed,  171  ;  her  danger 
ous  illness,  172;  seeks  health  in  a 
change  of  scene,  180  ;  her  condition 
after  medical  examination,  181 ;  re 
turns  to  Kennett,  183;  is  married, 
190  ;  fails  steadily,  195, 196  ;  her  death, 
197;  its  effect  on  B.  T.,  198. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  74,  81,  92, 


94,  96,  99,  102,  105,  109,  110,  115,  117- 
119,  121,  123,  124,  126-128,  135,  138, 
141-145,  147,  149,  152,  153,  156,  161- 
163,  168-172,  174,  175,  177,  187,  191, 
194. 

letters  to  B.  T.  from,  91,  93,  97, 

99,  117,  120,  124,  150,  178. 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  as  a  musician, 
354. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  421,  439, 

458,  500,  525,  535,  575,  582,  583,  588, 
599,  615,  620,  634,  637,  646,  657,  694, 
697,  705,  707,  727. 

"American  Legend,  The,"  B.  T.'s  poem 
before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  173. 

American  Literature,  B.  T.'s  German 
lecture  on,  604,  612,  613,  642. 

"Angel  of  the  Soul,  The,"  112  ;  suggest 
ive  of  Shelley's  "  Alastor,"  114,  131. 

Animal  magnetism,  entertained  at  Ken 
nett  Square,  19  ;  B.  T.'s  confidence  in, 
234. 

"Animal  Man,  The,"  B.  T.'s  lecture  on, 
197. 


"Anne  Boleyn,"  Mr.  Boker's  tragedy 

of,  168. 

Antioch  College,  B.  T.  occupies  the  pul 
pit  at,  297. 
Anti-slavery      principles      at     Kennett 

Square,  3,  19. 
Argyll,  Duke  of,  473. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  B.  T.'s  impressions  of, 

473. 

Ashton,  Thomas  B.,  57. 
"  Atherton,"  Miss  Mitford's  novel,  279  ; 

its  success,  288. 
"At  Home  and  Abroad,"   first  series, 

quoted,  33,  37,  65  ;  published,  353. 
"At  Home  and  Abroad,"  second  series, 

quoted,  6,  252,  253,  357. 
"Atlantic    Monthly,    The,"    criticised, 

393  ;  B.  T.'s  comments  on,  424. 
Auerbach,  Berthold,  326 ;  his  words  at 

funeral  of  B.  T.,  766,  767. 
"Autumnal  Vespers,"  191. 

Bancroft,  George,  on  B.  T.'s  translation 
of  "  Faust  "  and  its  reception  in  Ger 
many,  562. 

Bancroft,  Samuel,  Jr.,  letters  from  B.  T. 
to,  721,  734,  746,  758. 

Barton,  Bernard,-  B.  T.  makes  the  ac 
quaintance  of,  66 ;  writes  a  letter  to 
B.  T.,  89  ;  sends  him  a  copy  of  his 
poems,  95. 

Bayard,  James  A.,  B.  T.  a  namesake  of, 
5. 

Beale,  Lieut.  Edward  F.,  B.  T.'s  travel 
ing  companion  in  California,  202. 

Beginner  in  poetry,  letter  to  a,  from  B. 
T.,  600. 

Belcher,  Sir  Edward,  188. 

Benedict,  Jules,  sets  B.  T.'s  song  to  mu 
sic,  184 ;  B.  T.  meets  him,  185. 

Bennoch,  Francis,  B.  T.  meets,  in  Lon 
don,  241. 

"  Betrothal,  The,"  G.  H.  Boker's  play 
of,  194,  196. 

Bismarck,  Prince,  comparison  of  B.  T. 
with,  740  ;  B.  T.  meets,  744-746. 

Blank  verse,  on  the  reading  of,  666. 

Bloede,  Dr.  Gustav,  425. 

Bloede,  Mrs.  Marie,  423  ;  letters  from  B. 
T.  to,  423,  510,  511. 

Blunt,  George,  aims  to  secure  a  place  for 
B.  T.  on  the  expedition  to  Japan,  235. 


772 


INDEX. 


Boker,  George  Henry,  an  early  friend  of 
B.  T.,  132;  his  "Calaynos,"  136;  his 
"  Aune  Boleyn,"  168  ;  his  poem  before 
the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  173;  his  "Be 
trothal,"  194,  196  ;  aids  B.  T.  in  cele 
brating  his  parents'  golden  wedding, 
500. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  146,  159, 


168,  173,  185,  188,  195,  201,  206,  209, 
211-213,  215,  217,  227,  236,  238,  255, 
268,  276,  281,  285,  287,  296,  305,  312, 
317,  327,  350,  355,  418,  441,  570,  688, 
713,  724. 

Bolmar's  academy  at  West  Chester,  16. 

"  Book  of  Romances,  Ballads,  and  Lyr 
ics,  A,"  offered  to  Ticknor,  Reed  & 
Fields,  208;  accepted,  209;  its  title 
discussed,  210  ;  contents  discussed  with 
his  friends,  212  ;  published,  217  ;  B.  T. 
doubts  its  success,  272  ;  but  is  reas 
sured,  273  ;  is  still  uneasy,  274,  276. 

Boyesen,  Hjalmar  Hjorth,  on  B.  T.'s 
memory,  556  ;  on  Ms  views  regarding 
an  author's  function,  763,  764. 

Braisted,  John,  a  sailor  whom  B.  T. 
engages  to  accompany  him  on  his 
travels,  315. 

Brandywine  Creek,  the,  contiguous  to 
Taylor  possessions,  4;  description  of 
battle  of,  B.  T.'s  first  contribution  to 
journalism,  20. 

"Brandywine,  To  the,"  published  in 
"  Saturday  Evening  Post,"  26. 

Brinton,  John  H.,  advises  B.  T.  regard 
ing  his  newspaper  enterprise,  78. 

Brooks,  Charles  Timothy,  B.  T.  in  refer 
ence  to,  533,  534,  538  ;  letter  from,  to 
B.  T.,  554. 

Brosius,  Edwin,  description  of  Mary  Ag- 
new  by,  73.  ^ 

Brown,  E.  Lakin,  letter  from  B.  T.  to, 
666. 

Browning,  Robert,  his  "  Pauline  "  cited 
in  illustration  of  youthful  poetry,  113  ; 
his  experience  an  encouragement  to 
belated  poetical  reputation,  314  ;  B.  T. 
meets  him  in  London,  321,  473  ;  to  B. 
T.  regarding  his  poem  "  Casa  Guidi 
Windows,"  482  ;  his  freedom  in  poetic 
composition,  508  ;  upon  the  "  Echo 
Club,"  620;  his  "Inn  Album"  ™- 
viewed  in  a  parody  by  B.  T.,  690. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  B.  T.  's  early  ad 
miration  of,  24  ;  in  Florence  during  B. 
T.'s  stay,  57;  B.  T.  copies  one  of  his 
poems  into  the  Phceiiixville  "Pio 
neer,"  80  ;  character  of,  101  ;  advises 
B.  T.  as  to  his  removal  to  New  York, 
105  ;  upon  "  The  Picture  of  St.  John," 
467  ;  heads  the  list  of  persons  inviting 
B.  T.  to  a  dinner  at  Delmonico's,  729  ; 
presides  at  the  dinner,  730  ;  B.  T. 
writes  an  Epicediuui  on,  759,  763. 

Buchanan,  Captain,  of  the  Susquehanna, 
248. 

Bufleb,  August,  B.  T.'s  companion  on 
the  Nile,  222  ;  his  affection  and  fidel 
ity,  222  ;  his  judgment  of  B.  T.,  224 


makes  B.  T.  a  present  of  an  estate  in 

Gotha,  307  ;  his  hospitality,  323,  324 ; 

accompanies  B.   T.   to  Norway,  334 ; 

his  melancholy  condition,  592. 
Buslmell,  Horace,  gives  B.  T.  a  piece  of 

advice,  which  is  followed,  66. 
"By- Ways  of  Europe,"  quoted,  9,  15, 

16,  266,  496. 

"  Calaynos,"  G.  H.  Boker's  tragedy  of, 
136. 

California,  the  fever  of  adventure  for, 
138;  the  "Tribune"  sends  B.  T.  to 
report,  148;  B.  T.'s  experience  in, 
156-164 ;  makes  a  lecturing  tour  in 
1859  in,  350-352;  B.  T.'s  hopes  for, 
353;  an  unsuccessful  lecture  tour  in, 
527. 

"  California,  on  leaving,"  352. 

Californian  ballads,  114 ;  their  character 
as  outlined  by  the  author,  138  ;  a  new 
one  added,  166. 

Cameron,  Simon,  invites  B.  T.  to  join 
the  Russian  mission  as  secretary,  383  ; 
offers  him  special  inducements,  384; 
goes  to  St.  Petersburg  with  B.  T.,  387 ; 
leaves  B.  T.  in  charge,  389. 

"  Canelo,  El,"  116. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  B.  T.'s  interview  with, 
736. 

Casa  Guidi  windows,  482. 

Cats,  B.  T.'s  fondness  for,  271. 

Cedarcroft,  purchase  of  the  farm  after 
ward  named,  252 ;  its  original  condi 
tion,  252,  253  ;  its  tug  at  B.  T.'s  heart 
strings,  267 ;  work  begun  upon  the 
house,  348  ;  corner-stone  of  the  tower 
laid,  349  ;  described  by  B.  T.,  357-361 ; 
the  grounds  at,  362-365  ;  B.  T.  makes 
his  permanent  home  at,  375;  recom 
mended  as  a  castle,  376  ;  its  attractions 
as  a  place  of  residence,  380 ;  its  de 
mands  upon  the  owner,  419  ;  as  a  place 
for  literary  work,  497  ;  annoyances  in 
cident  to,  514 ;  B.  T.  's  growing  dis 
content  with,  536  ;  the  estate  put  into 
the  hands  of  an  agent,  572. 

Cedarcroft  Theatre,  368. 

Central  America,  proposal  for  B.  T.  to 
visit,  200,  207. 

Chambers,  Ruth  Ann,  B.  T.'s  first  teach 
er,  10  ;  his  indebtedness  to  her,  11. 

Chandler,  Joseph  R.,  editor  of  the 
"United  States  Gazette,"  37. 

Channing,  William  Ellery,  quoted,  31. 

Chester  County,  Pennsylvania,  character 
of,  1 ;  traditions  of  its  inhabitants,  2. 

Chittenden,  R.  H.,  letters  from  B:'T.  to, 
517,  519  ;  letter  to  B.  T.  from,  518. 

"Christian  Inquirer,  The,"  B.  T.  invited 
to  edit,  122. 

Clairvoyance,  a  case  of,  299. 

Clay,  Cassius  M.,  387. 

Clay,  Henry,  seen  by  B.  T.,  123. 

College  education,  the  advantages  of, 
302. 

Colorado,  visited  by  B.  T.,  459. 

"  Confessions  of  a  Medium,  The,"  372. 


INDEX. 


773 


Conway,  Moncure  Daniel,  reminiscences  I 
by,  of  B.  T.'s  interview  with  Carlyle, 
735-737. 

Copyright  treaty,  282. 

Cornwall,  Barry,  241  ;  B.  T.  breakfasts 
with,  321 ;  calls  on,  473. 

Curtis,  George  William,  likes  B.  T.'s 
"Africa,"  285;  mobbed  in  Philadel 
phia,  373 ;  B.  T.  consults  about  lec 
turing,  382 ;  his  comments  on  the 
breakfast  given  to  B.  T.  at  the  Century 
Club,  726. 

"  Cyclopaedia  of  Literature  and  the  Fine 
Arts,"  B.  T.  edits  a,  201,  216. 

"Cyclopaedia  of  Travel,"  undertaken  by 
B.  T.,  292,  298 ;  his  expectations  from 
it,  316  ;  published,  317  ;  revised,  349. 

Darley,  Felix  O.  C.  ;  his  "Margaret" 
drawings,  115. 

Darlington,  Hannah  M.,  letters  from 
B.  T.  to,  621,  638. 

Delta  Kappa  Epsilon,  B.  T.'s  address 
before  the,  661. 

Dennett,  William  H.,  62. 

Dickens,  Charles,  kindles  B.  T.'s  ambi 
tion,  20 ;  notices  ''  Eldorado "  in 
"  Household  Words,"  174. 

"  Didaskalia  "  quoted,  51. 

"Divine  Tragedy,  The,"  of  Longfellow, 
announced  and  reviewed  in  "  The  Tri 
bune,"  567-570. 

"Don  Carlos,"  translated  and  adapted 
by  B.  T.  for  Lawrence  Barrett,  711. 

Dubourjal,  115,  120. 

"  Echo  Club,  Diversions  of  the,"  as  first 

planned,  564  ;  as  carried  out,  565,  566 ; 

R    Browning  upon,   620 ;    published, 

690. 

"  Egypt  and  Iceland,"  prepared,  656. 
Egypt,  the  charm  of  its  air,  219  ;  safety 

of  travel  in,  221. 
"  Eldorado  ;  or  Adventures  in  the  Path 

of  Empire,"  published,   166  ;  its  suc 
cess,  171 ;  three  reprints  in  London, 

173 ;  its  popularity  in  England,  240 ; 

introduces  B.  T.  in  India,  246. 
Ellet,  Mrs.  E.  F.,110. 
Embury,  Mrs.  Emma,  120. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  praises  B.  T.'s 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem,  176  ;  to  J.  T. 

Fields  on  B.  T.'s  "  Faust,"  542. 
"  Epicedium,"  B.  T.'s  last  verses,  759, 

763. 

"Euphorion,"  385. 
Evans,   Henry   E.,   a  printer  to  whom 

B.  T.  is  apprenticed,  23  ;  releases  B.  T. 

from  apprenticeship,  36. 
Evarts,  William  M.,  letters  from  B.  T. 

to,  748. 
Everett,  H.  Sidney,  secretary  of  legation 

at  Berlin,  738 ;  his  account  of  B.  T.'s 

^reception  at  Berlin,  743. 
"  Ewigweibliche,  Das,"  discussion  upon 

the  meaning  of,  518,  519. 

"Faust,"  B.   T.  at  work  on,  418;  his 


ambition  regarding,  464  ;  collects  ma 
terials  for,  493 ;  the  cooperation  of 
scholars,  498  ;  on  the  qualifications  of 
a  translator  of,  506;  the  "Classische 
Walpurgisnacht "  of,  510  ;  lateral  stud 
ies  on,  512  ;  the  "  Mystic  Chorus  "  in, 
518 ;  the  question  of  other  translators, 
534,  538  ;  the  prospect  of  the  transla 
tion,  540 ;  the  work  in  its  effect  on 
B.  T.'s  habits  of  mind,  541  ;  the  First 
Part  published,  542;  comments  upon 
it  by  R.  W.  Emerson,  542 ;  by  J.  G. 
Whittier,  543  ;  the  Second  Part  in  pop 
ular  opinion,  547  ;  the  reception  of  the 
translation  of  the  First  Part,  548,  552  ; 
Second  Part  published,  554 ;  publica 
tion  of,  abroad,  555  ;  its  reception  in 
Germany,  562. 

Field,  Cyrus,  B.  T.  accompanies  to  Ice 
land,  652,  654. 

Fields,  James  Thomas,  recalls  B.  T.'s 
first  visit  to  Boston,  75 ;  his  service  to 
B.  T.'s  fame,  241  ;  wishes  to  publish 
"  Palms  of  the  Orient,"  273. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  80,  140, 170, 


179,  184,  193,  207,  210,  214-216,  229, 
231,  241,  269,  272,  274,  277,  304,  305, 
312,  315,  318,  370-372,  378,  391,  404, 
406,  419,  422,  423,  425,  426,  462,  465, 
477,  492,  494,  498,  499,  504,  505,  507, 
508,  528,  532,  533,  538,  539,  662,  684, 
685,  712,  724. 

letters  to  B.  T.  from,  139,  230; 


273,  509. 

Fields,  Mrs.  Annie,  letters  from  B.  T. 
to,  313,  430,  500,  509,  724. 

Fire  Island,  B.  T.  visits,  to  report  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  shipwreck,  177. 

Florence,  B.  T.'s  first  visit  to,  55. 

Foster,  Frederic  E.,  joins  B.  T.  in  a 
newspaper  enterprise,  77. 

Frankenstein,  the  painter,  118. 

Frankfurt,  life  at,  49-51 ;  B.  T.'s  attach 
ment  to,  52. 

Freiligrath,  seen  by  B.  T.,  55;  his  po 
ems  translated  by  B.  T.,  79,  80. 

Freytag,  Gustav,  B.  T.  proposes  to  trans 
late  his  "Pictures  of  Life  in  Germany," 
370  ;  as  an  author,  764. 

Friedrichroda,  B.  T.'s  stay  at,  379,  750. 

Friends,  Society  of,  as  seen  in  Chester 
County,  Pa.,  2  ;  the  religious  home  of 
B.  T.'s  ancestry,  4 ;  influence  of,  on 
B.  T.'s  education,  11 ;  their  suscepti 
bility,  19. 

"  Frithiof's  Saga,"  B.  T.  discovers,  and 
sends  to  Mary  Agnew,  153. 

Froude,  James  Anthony,  474. 

Furness,  William  Howard,  a  friendly 
critic  of  "Faust,"  498;  letter  from 
B.  T.  on  translating  "Faust,"  506; 
conducts  the  services  at  the  grave  of 
B.  T.,  769. 

Ganzenmuller  case,  the,  756. 

Gause,  Jonathan,  principal  of  Unionville 

academy,  18. 
German  language  and  literature,  B.  T.'a 


774 


INDEX. 


first  acquaintance  with,  14;  studied 
in  earnest,  48. 

German  life,  poetic  side  of,  seen  by 
B.  T.,  49,  50;  early  impressions  of, 
51 ;  subject  of  letters  to  "N.  Y.  Tri 
bune,"  62. 

Germany,  minister  to,  rumors  that  B.  T. 
is  to  be  appointed,  707  ;  long  delay 
in  the  appointment,  718  ;  the  appoint 
ment  finally  made,  720  ;  the  applause 
of  the  people,  720,  721  ;  B.  T.'s  appre 
ciation  of  this  recognition,  721,  723. 

Germany,  School  History  of ,  by  B.  T., 
arranged  for,  589 ;  worked  on,  G21  ; 
finished,  628  ;  a  waste  of  labor,  629 ;  a 
source  of  disappointment,  650. 

Gerstaecker,  Frederic,  asksB.  T.'s  inter 
est  in  a  novel,  88  ;  B.  T.  visits,  326. 

Gettysburg  ode,  513. 

Gibbon's  "Rome,"  a  solace  in  B.  T.'s 
boyhood,  9. 

Gleichen,  Baron  von,  Schiller's  grandson, 
641,  642,  653. 

Godwin,  Parke,  110. 

Goethe,  death  of,  in  B.  T.'s  cliildish 
memory,  7. 

Goethe  and  Schiller,  B.  T.'s  proposed 
life  of,  first  hinted  at,  544  ;  proposed 
by  H.  W.  Longfellow,  545 ;  outlined  in 
a  letter  from  B.  T.  to  his  mother,  550 ; 
studies  for,  593 ;  outlined  in  a  letter 
to  A.  R.  Macdonough,  602;  the 
abundance  of  material  for,  630  ;  com 
pletion  of  studies  for,  652 ;  deter 
mination  to  take  up  the  work,  718 ; 
the  opportunity  afforded  by  the  Ger 
man  mission,  723;  the  view  which 
B.  T.  takes  of  the  matter,  725  ;  final 
attempt  to  work  upon  the  Life,  762. 

Goethe,  Wolfgang  von,  at  Weimar,  641. 

"Golden  Legend,  The,"  of  Longfellow, 
its  success,  230,  231. 

Golden  wedding  of  B.  T.'s  parents,  500, 
503. 

Gortchakoff,  Prince,  392  ;  dealings  with, 
394,  395,  397,  398. 

Gould,  Miss  Emily  Bliss,  671. 

Graham,  George  R.,  buys  poems  from 
B.  T.  at  the  right  time,  37. 

Graham,  James  Lorimer,  Jr.,  386,  473. 

Graham's  Magazine,  26;  proposition  to 
B.  T.  to  become  editor  of,  125. 

Grant,  Gordon,  letter  from  B.  T.  to,  714. 

Grant,  Ulysses  Simpson,  B.  T.  entertains 
at  Berlin,  747-750. 

Greece,  B.  T.'s  strong  desire  to  visit,  35  ; 
his  disappointment  at  missing,  63  ;  his 
stay  in,  337-340. 

"Greece  and  Russia,  Travels  in,"  348; 
published,  353  ;  approved  by  the  Rus 
sian  censor,  388. 

Greek  language,  study  of  the,  taken  up 
by  B.  T.  when  lecturing,  663. 

Greeley,  Horace,  his  first  connection  with 
B.  T.,  38  ;  advises  B.  T.  regarding  his 
removal  to  New  York,  103  ;  gives  him 
employment  on  "The  Tribune,"  114, 
115 ;  advises  B.  T.  to  accept  offer  from 


"  Graham's  Magazine,"  126  ;  praises 
B.  T.'s  work  on  "The  Tribune,"  141  ; 
is  pleased  with  his  California  letters, 
166  ;  his  boy  sends  a  message  from  the 
spirit-world  to  B.  T.,  194;  visits  Lon 
don  to  report  the  World's  Fair,  201  ; 
his  partnership  with  Seward  and 
Weed,  390  ;  at  B.  T.'s  entertainment, 
449 ;  nominated  for  the  presidency, 
589  ;  death  of,  605  ;  B.  T.'s  comments 
on,  606,  613. 

letters  to  B.  T.  from  141,  1G6. 

Green,  Miss,  gives  B.  T.  occupation  in 
her  school,  107. 

Greenwood,  Grace,  describes  Mary  Ag- 
new,  73;  at  WiUis's  with  B.  T.,  110; 
repeats  "  Ariadne  "  at  Anne  Lynch's 
conversazione,  110  ;  in  London,  241. 

Grinnell,  Joseph,  cares  for  B.  T.  when 
he  is  ill,  311. 

Griswold,  Rufus  Wilmot,  presents  B.  T. 
with  an  entire  Christian  name,  5  ;  ed 
itor  of  "  Saturday  Evening  Post "  and 
"Graham's  Magazine,"  26;  encour 
ages  B.  T.,  26  ;  his  position  in  litera 
ture,  26,  27 ;  advises  B.  T.  to  publish 
a  volume  of  poems,  27 ;  is  rewarded 
by  a  dedication,  30 ;  takes  charge  of 
the  venture,  30 ;  offers  B.  T.  a  place 
in  his  American  Pantheon,  39 ;  goes 
with  B.  T.  to  see  Powers's  "Greek 
Slave,"  100  ;  advises  B.  T.  about  his 
removal  to  New  York,  and  makes  him 
an  offer,  104 ;  attacked  by  the  Califor 
nia  fever,  139. 

Hale,  Mrs.  Sarah  Josepha  invites  B.  T.  to 
contribute  to  the  "  Opal,"  88 ;  reviews 
"Views  Afoot"  in  Godey's  "Lady's 
Book,"  95. 

Halstead,  Murat,  letter  from  B.  T..to, 
upon  literary  work  and  its  compensa 
tion,  701  ;  his  interest  in  B.  T.'s  ap 
pointment  to  Berlin,  709. 

"Hannah  Thurston"  begun,  374;  pub 
lished,  415 ;  its  salient  points,  416, 417  ; 
its  success,  418  ;  Miss  Thackeray's  lik 
ing  for  it,  474. 

Hansen,  Marie,  B.  T.  betrothed  to,  333 ; 
married  to,  336. 

"  Hassan's  Temptation,"  297. 

Hawley,  Joseph  R.,  invites  B.  T.  to  write 
a  hymn  for  the  Centennial  Exhibition, 
676;  writes  to  B.  T.  regarding  his 
achievement,  689. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  "  The  Blithedale 
Romance  "  of,  231 ;  writes  to  B.  T.  re 
garding  "  Hannah  Thurston,"  417. 

Hayes,  President,  B.  T.  calls  on,  175. 

Hayne,  Paul  Hamilton,  letters  from  B.  T. 
to,  510,  560,  577,  604,  667,  683,  691,  716, 
723,  727. 

Hayward,  Abraham,  translator  of 
"  Faust,"  B.  T.'s  comments  on,  538. 

"Hearth  and  Home,"  contributions  by 
B.  T.  to,  361. 

Heavysege,  Charles,  author  of  "Saul," 
440. 


INDEX. 


775 


Hebel,  the  German  Burns,  article  on  by 
B.  T.,  379. 

Hedge,  Frederic  Henry,  accomplish 
ments  of,  as  a  translator  of  German, 
535. 

"Helmet,  The,"  in  various  poetical 
forms,  284,  286. 

Hewitt,  Mrs.  Mary  E.,  120. 

Hexameter,  B.  T.  on  the  use  of  the,  516, 
517,  520. 

Hicks,  Thomas,  paints  B.  T.'s  portrait, 
308,  309. 

Hill,  Dr.  and  Mrs.,  American  mission 
aries  at  Athens,  338. 

Hirzel,  Dr.,  aids  B.  T.  in  his  studies  for 
"  Faust,"  493. 

Hoffman,  Charles  Fenno,  100  ;  goes  with 
B.  T.  to  see  Powers's  "Greek  Slave," 
100 ;  advises  B.  T.  about  removal  to 
New  York,  and  makes  him  an  offer, 
104  ;  a  fellow-tenant,  112. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  his  "My  Hunt 
for  the  Captain,"  407;  upon  "The 
Picture  of  St.  John,"  468  ;  upon  B.  T.'s 
"Home  Pastorals,"  673;  and  Goethe 
Ode,  674. 

Holtzendorff,  Madame  von,  on  B.  T.'s 
translation  of  "Faust,"  562. 

"  Home  Pastorals,"  quoted,  3,  4 ;  growth 
of  the,  515,  516. 

"Home  Pastorals,  Ballads  and  Lyrics," 
published,  673  ;  comments  on  byO.  W. 
Holmes,  673  ;  and  H.  W.  Longfellow, 
674. 

Houghton,  Lord,  B.  T.  breakfasts  with, 
473. 

Howells,  William  Dean,  upon  "The 
Story  of  Kennett,"  457. 

Howitt,  Mary,  cultivates  B.  T.'s  ac 
quaintance,  87. 

Howitt,  William,  his  "Rural  Life  in  Ger 
many,"  encourages  B.  T.  to  travel 
abroad,  34. 

Hugo's,  Victor,  "La  Le"gende  des  Sie- 
cles,"  reviewed  and  partially  trans 
lated  by  B.  T.  in  "  The  Tribune " 
against  time,  699. 

Humboldt,  Alexander  von,  325  ;  influence 
of,  onB.  T.,327. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  241. 

"  Hylas,"  the  mood  in  which  it  is  writ 
ten,  166. 

Iceland,  B.  T.  visits,  to  report  the  Millen 
nial  celebration,  652-655. 
"Independent,  The,"  B.  T.  contributes 

to,  370,  371. 
"  India,  China,  and  Japan,  A  Visit  to," 

quoted,  247,  248  ;   published,  265  ;  its 

success,  308. 
Indiana  State  College,  B.  T.  a  professor 

in,  275. 
"In  Memoriam,"   B.   T.'s   opinion    of, 

197. 
Irving,  Washington,   B.  T.  meets,  128; 

letter  from,  to  B.  T.,  287  ;  B.  T.  visits, 

287. 
Ives,  Mr.,  American  artist,  57. 


Jacobi,  Frau  Professor,  translates  B.  T.'s 
poems,  324. 

James,  George  Payne  Rainsford,  pays 
B.  T.  a  compliment,  203. 

Japan,  B.  T.'s  visit  to,  254-257  ;  B.  T. 
proposed  as  commissioner  to,  300. 

"John  Godfrey's  Fortunes  "  quoted,  108 ; 
its  reference  to  B.  T.  's  own  nature  and 
experience,  109, 114  ;  its  satire  on  New 
York  literary  society,  131 ;  work  upon, 
begun,  418  ;  completed,  423 ;  offer  for 
translation  into  German,  425. 

Johnson,  Oliver,  B.  T.'s  predecessor  on 
"  The  Tribune,"  114 ;  resumes  work  on 
the  paper,  208. 

"Journey  to  Central  Africa,  A,"  pub 
lished,  265,  281 ;  its  success,  285. 

"Joseph  and  his  Friend"  begun,  508: 
published,  546. 

Kane,  Elisha  Kent,  gives  B.  T.  a  sketch 

made  in  the  Arctic,  314. 
Keats,  George,  299. 
Keats,  John,  the  spirit  of,  transmigrates, 

130. 
Kellogg,  Mr.,  an  American  artist,  met 

by  B.  T.,  57. 
Keimett  Square,  Pa.,  poetical  view  of,  3  ; 

birth-place  of  B.  T.,  4  ;  its  hospitality 

to  Reformers,  19;   its  criticism  of  B. 

T. ,  127,  129. 
Kensett,   John  Frederick,   travels  with 

B.  T.,  321  ;  death  of,  606. 
Khartoum,  B.  T.'s  stay  at,  226. 
Kingsley,   Charles;   B.   T.   admires    his 

"  Saint's  Tragedy,"  315. 
Kirkland,   Mrs.   Caroline  Matilda,   100; 

her  character  and  genius,  101 ;  invites 

B.  T.  to  take  her  place  as  editor  during 

her  absence  in  Europe,  122. 

"  Land  of  the  Saracens,  The,"  published, 
265,  281. 

Landor.  Walter  Savage,  proposal  from 
B.  T.  that  American  authors  should 
give  him  an  inkstand,  313. 

Landscape-gardening  as  an  art,  362. 

Lanier,  Sidney,  B.  T.  makes  the  acquaint 
ance  of,  668  ;  and  introduces  him  to 
H.  W.  Longfellow,  675 ;  invited,  at  B. 
T.'s  suggestion,  to  write  the  Cantata 
for  the  Centennial  Exhibition,  676 ; 
writes  "Under  the  Cedarcroft  Chest 
nut,"  698. 

letters  from  B.  T.   to,  669,  672, 


676,  677,  681,  682,  698,  705,  707,  711, 
719,  723. 

letters  to  B.  T.  from,  677,  693. 


"Lars,"  first  suggested  in  Norway,  335  ; 
the  poem  begun,  595 ;  offered  to  J.  R. 
Osgood,  698  ;  described  to  T.  B.  Al- 
drich,  599  ;  publication  arranged  for, 
608;  proposal  that  it  should  be  pub 
lished  anonymously,  615  ;  discussion 
of  its  title,  615-617  ;  published,  622  ; 
commented  upon  by  B.  T.  in  a  letter 
to  a  Quaker,  638 ;  the  picnic  on  the 
scene  of  the  poem,  659. 


776 


INDEX. 


Latakia  tobacco,  437. 

Lecturing,  the  system  of,  263;  B.  T.'s 
experience  in,  2G4,  2G8,  2G9,  271,  273- 
276;  it  breaks  up  his  literary  work, 
291  ;  exhaustive  character  of,  299 ; 
a  chief  resource,  344;  rhymed  de 
scription  of  experiences  in,  345 ;  not 
B.  T.'s  caUing,  354;  a  decline  in  the 
business,  381 ;  reasons  for  the  deca 
dence  of,  529." 

Leslie,  Eliza,  encourages  B.  T.,  87 ;  her 
kindness  appreciated,  88. 

"  Liberated  Titan,  The  ;  an  Oregon  Hun 
ter's  Story,"  by  B.  T.,  58;  its  early 
death,  G5,  GO. 

"  Library  of  Travel,"  B.  T.  undertakes  to 
edit  a,  558,  589. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  B.  T.  calls  upon  with 
reference  to  the  secretaryship  of  the 
Russian  legation,  384 ;  is  unaware  of 
Mr.  Seward's  treatment  of  B.  T.,  414  ; 
B.  T.'s  rhymed  story  of,  499. 

Lind,  Jenny,  the  occasion  of  the  Ameri 
can  Parnassus  having  a  land-slide,  183  ; 
prefers  B.  T.'s  song,  184  ;  B.  T.'s  admi 
ration  for,  186,  214. 

Literary  life,  conditions  of,  701-704. 

"Literary  World, The,"  gives  B.T.  a  sit 
uation,  104  ;  publishes  the  Californian 
ballads,  116. 

Loch  Achray,  poem  written  at,  by  B.  T., 
43. 

Locke,  Richard  Adams,  author  of  the 
"  Moon  Hoax,"  57,  63. 

Lockhart,  John  Gibson,  B.  T.  meets  in 
London,  GG. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  B.  T.'s 
early  admiration  of,  25 ;  is  met  by  B. 
T.,  77  ;  encourages  him  after  publica 
tion  of  "Views  Afoot,"  77  ;  is  visited 
by  B.  T.,  135,  136  ;  begs  for  one  of  B. 
T.'s  drawings,  290  ;  upon  "  The  Picture 
of  St.  John,"  4G6,  4G7  ;  B.  T.  on  his 
"  Dante,"  478 ;  his  offenses  against  a 
sense  of  beauty,  508  ;  his  "  Divine 
Tragedy,"  567. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  290,  465, 

544,  668,  675. 

letters  to  B.  T.  from,  77, 289,  545, 

567,  569,  585,  674. 

Longwood  in  Chester  County,  Pa.,  3. 

Lowe,  Dr.,  attends  B.  T.  in  his  last 
sickness,  765. 

Lowell,  Charles,  B.  T.,  meets  him  at  J. 
R.  Lowell's,  175. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  B.  T.'s  early  ad 
miration  of,  25 ;  is  met  by  B.  T.,  128  ; 
is  visited  by  B.  T.,  135,  175  ;  writes  B. 
T.  regarding  ''  Poems  of  the  Orient," 
295  ;  his  opinion  of  "  Confessions  of  a 
Medium,"  372  ;  upon  "  The  Picture  of 
St.  John,"  467. 

Lunt,  George,  likes  the  "  Californian  Bal 
lads,"  139. 

Lynch,  Anne,  110  ;  her  conversaziones, 
110  ;  her  house  a  literary  centre,  115  ; 
her  valentine  party,  115,  120  ;  referred 


to,  under  disguise,  in  "John  Godfrey's 
Fortunes,"  131. 

Macdonough,  A.  R.,  letters  from  B.  T. 
to,  593,  602,  750. 

McEntee,  Jervis,  letters  from  B.  T.  to, 
433,  436,  444,  461,  464,  480,  487,  526, 
558,  563,  576,  580,  583,  584,  586,  587, 
591,  594,  600,  612,  618,  639,  652,  658, 
709/753. 

McEntee,  Mrs.  Jervis,  letters  from.B.  T. 
to,  578,  580. 

Macready  riots,  B.  T.  reports  the,  145. 

Mackay,  Charles,  241. 

MacMahon,  Marshal,  B.  T.  at  the  recep 
tion  of,  737-741. 

Mann,  Horace,  297. 

"Manuela,"  166. 

Marshall,  Humphrey,  249. 

Martin,  Samuel,  an  early  teacher  of  B. 
T.,  12. 

Masque  of  characters,  500-503. 

"Masque  of  the  Gods,  The,"  written, 
572  ;  and  published,  573  ;  described  by 
B.  T.  in  a  letter  to  T.  B.  Aldrich,  575 ; 
its  reception  by  other  poets,  585,  586. 

Melville,  Herman,  119,  188. 

Mendelssohn,  seen  by  B.  T.,  55;  cele 
bration  in  memory  of,  at  New  York, 
117. 

Mendenhall,  a  family  name,  used  in 
"Lars,"  5. 

"Mercury,  The  New  York,"  B.  T.  con 
tributes  to,  348. 

Mitchell,  Donald  G.,  361 ;  letter  from  B. 
T.  to,  on  "  Hannah  Thurston,"  426 ;  in 
vited  to  "  The  Travellers,"  428 ;  letter 
from  B.  T.  to,  regarding  a  description 
of  Cedarcroft,  503. 

Mitford,  Mary  Russell,  B.  T.  sends  "  El 
dorado  "  to,  171 ;  her  interest  in  B.  T., 
230  ;  B.  T.  visits  her,  241  ;  writes  to 
B.  T.,  278 ;  receives  a  letter  in  reply, 
280  ;  and  writes  again,  288. 

Mon-da-min,  228.    - 

Monterey,  B.  T.'s  stay  at,  156-162. 

Morgan,  Captain,  of  the  Victoria,  123. 

Morton,  Dr.,  attendant  011  Mary  Agnew, 
181. 

Mt.  Cuba,  the  picnic  at,  659. 

Mozier,  Mr.,  57,  62. 

Murray,  John,  politely  refuses  "  The 
Liberated  Titan,"  65. 

Musical  bill  of  fare,  a,  710. 

Napoleon  III.,  B.  T.  gets  a  glimpse  of, 
388;  article  by  B.  T.  on,  in  "The 
Tribune,"  531,  532. 

"  National  Ode,  The,"  B.  T.  called  upon 
to  write,  680;  discussion  concerning 
certain  lines,  684,  G85 ;  delivery  of,  by 
B.  T.,  686  ;  its  reception  by  the  peo 
ple,  687  ;  B.  T.'s  sense  of  the  apprecia 
tion,  G88. 

New  England,  the  schools  of,  as  seen  in 
the  distance,  by  B.  T.,  18. 

New  York,  chances  for  literary  success 


INDEX. 


777 


in,  105,  630 ;  literary  life  in,  of  two 

sorts,  131. 

"Night  Walk,  A,"  37. 
Nile,  B.  T.'s  journey  on  the,  221-227. 
Niles,  a  rainy  day  and  rhymes  at,  345. 
"Northern  Travel,"  published,  336. 
Norway,  artistic  use  of,  by  B.  T.,  335. 
"Notus  Ignoto,"  criticisms  on,  504,  505, 

508,  509. 

O'Brien,   Fitz  James,   B.   T.'s    rival  in 

nonsense  verses,  283,  284. 
"Obsequies  in  Rome,  The,"  an  ode  on 

the  death  of  Victor  Emmanuel,  719. 
Osgood,   Mrs.   Frances    Sargent,   has    a 

valentine  encounter  with  B.  T.,  120. 
Osgood,  James  Randall,  letters  from  B. 

T.  to,  572-574,  580,  598,  607,  615,  634, 

646,  651,  654. 
Ossoli,  Margaret  Fuller,   shipwreck  of, 

reported  for  "  The  Tribune  "  by  B.  T., 

177. 
Oxford,  the  ship  in  which  B.  T.  makes  his 

first  voyage  to  Europe,  40. 

Page,  William,  100. 

"  Palm  and  the  Pine,  The,"  quoted,  155. 

Passports  obtained  on  first  principles, 
37. 

Patterson,  Mr.,  publisher  of  the  "  Satur 
day  Evening  Post,  37  ;  offers  B.  T.  the 
editorship  of  "Graham's  Magazine," 
126. 

Pennock,  Barclay,  accompanies  B.  T.  to 
Europe,  37,  50,  58,  64. 

Pennypacker,  Dr.  I.  A.,  takes  an  inter 
est  in  B.  T.'s  newspaper  venture,  77  ; 
letter  to,  from  B.  T.,  78. 

Perkins,  Thomas  Handasyd,  benevolent 
wishes  regarding  B.  T.,  84;  visited  by 
B.  T.,  135,  136. 

Perry,  Oliver  Hazard,  Commodore,  Ex 
pedition  of,  to  Japan,  234;  is  very 
non-committal  as  to  receiving  B.  T.  into 
the  company,  235;  accepts  him  in 
capacity  of  master's  mate,  250 ;  gives 
B.  T.  permission  to  resign,  260;  pro 
poses  to  urge  him  as  commissioner  to 
Japan,  300. 

Persia,  the  special  mission  to,  411-414. 

Peterson,  Henry,  invites  B.  T.  to  con 
tribute  to  the  "  Saturday  Evening 
Post,"  122. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  poem  before 
the,  173,  175,  176. 

Phillips,  John  B.,  an  early  friend  of  B. 
T.  ;  his  career,  36 ;  note,  B.  T.  dedi 
cates  to  him  "  Rhymes  of  Travel," 
137;  criticises  the  "Story  of  Ken- 
nett,"  453-455. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  34,  39,  69, 

100,  129,  145,  190,  193,  203,  205,  206, 
244,  451,  452,  466,  536,  541,  551-553, 
631,  676,  684. 

Phoenixville,  B.  T.  establishes  a  newspa 
per  in,  77  ;  character  of  the  town,  86  ; 
B.  T.  leaves  it  to  try  hia  fortune  in 
New  York,  106. 


Phrenology  credited  at  Kennett  Square, 

Piatti  makes  a  bust  of  B.  T.,  209. 

Picnic  on  the  Brandy  wine,  431. 

';  Picture  of  St.  John,  The,"  quoted,  13, 
54;  first  essay  in,  166,  17*;  work 
upon,  202,  203,  418,  419,  426,  439  ;  fin 
ished,  441 ;  reflections  on,  442,  443 ; 
revised  for  publication,  456 ;  going 
through  the  press,  457  ;  submitted  to 
critical  friends,  458  ;  published,  465  ; 
its  relation  to  B.  T.'s  development, 
465 ;  its  recognition  by  other  poets, 
467,  468. 

"Picturesque  Ballads  of  California," 
116. 

"  Pine  Forest  of  Monterey,  The,"  162, 
166. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  criticism  by,  on  Ten 
nyson,  25. 

"  Poems  of  Home  and  Travel,"  pub 
lished,  308. 

"Poems  of  the  Orient,"  result  of  East 
ern  travel,  220  ;  published  by  Ticknor 
&  Fields,  267;  its  reception,  295; 
judgment  of  Lowell,  Longfellow,  and 
Willis,  296 ;  its  truth  to  nature,  301. 

Poetry,  the  difficulties  of  one  who  as 
pires  to  write,  204. 

"Poet's  Journal,  The,"  B.  T.  writes, 
367  ;  the  pleasure  which  he  takes  in  it, 
369;  offers  it  for  publication,  370; 
published,  389;  unpleasantly  adver 
tised,  404,  405. 

Powers,  Hiram,  friendly  to  B.  T.,  55; 
letter  to  B.  T.,  56;  his  "Eve"  fur 
nishes  subject  for  a  poem  by  B.  T.,  55- 
57 ;  his  stories,  57  ;  interests  himself 
in  B.  T.'s  fortunes,  62,  63 ;  his  statue 
of  Calhoun  lost  at  sea,  177. 

Powers,  Horatio  Nelson,  letters  from  B. 
T.  to,  522,  523,  688;  speaks  at  the 
grave  of  B.  T.,  769. 

"Prince  Deukalion"  begun,  667;  laid 
aside  and  resumed,  711;  a  confession 
of  the  author's  faith,  716  ;  ready  for 
publication,  759  ;  published,  764  ;  com 
ments  on,  by  J.  G.  Whittier,  764 ;  a 
passage  from,  on  B.  T.'s  monument, 

"  Professor  Extraordinary,  A,"  not  writ 
ten  by  B.  T.,  672. 

"Prophet,  The,"  designed,  632  ;  carried 
to  completion,  633,  634 ;  described  by 
B.  T.,  634-636;  proposal  to  publish 
anonymously,  646 ;  the  plan  elabo 
rated,  651  ;  but  finally  abandoned, 
654;  the  drama  published,  656;  its 
motive  defended  by  B.  T.,  664,  665. 

Putnam,  George  P.,  comes  to  the  rescue 
of  B.  T.  in  London,  65 ;  a  generous 
friend,  100;  publishes  with  Mr.  Wi 
ley,  "Views  Afoot,"  69;  publishes 
"  Rhymes  of  Travel,"  137 ;  publishes 
"Eldorado,"  166;  urges  the  author, 
169 ;  his  success  with  the  book,  171 ; 
one  of  the  judges  on  the  Jenny  Lind 
prize,  183  ;  gives  B.  T.  the  task  of  ed- 


778 


INDEX. 


iting  a  "  Cyclopaedia  of  Literature  and 
the  Fine  Arts,"  201 ;  consents  to  B.  T.'s 
publishing  lu's  poems  elsewhere,  208; 
publishes  the  three  volumes  of  travels 
which  resulted  from  B.  T.'s  Eastern 
journeys,  265;  publishes  "Northern 
Travel,"  336 ;  makes  a  special  arrange 
ment  with  Washington  Irving  and  B. 
T.,  344  ;  applied  to  in  hot  haste  for 
money  for  patriotic  purposes,  376 ; 
proposes  a  Caxton  edition  of  B.  T.'s 
writings,  381;  B.  T.  dedicates  "Han 
nah  Thurston  "  to,  415 ;  his  sense  of 
the  relation  which  he  held  to  B.  T., 
416  ;  death  of,  606. 

"Quaker  Widow,  The,"  an  essay  in  a 
new  vein  of  poetry,  356,  357. 

Read,  Thomas  Buchanan,  B.  T.  produces 
him  by  thinking  of  him,  81 ;  goes 
with  B.  T.  to  Willis's,  110  ;  reads  his 
"  Bards  "  at  Anne  Lynch's,  110 ;  goes 
as  Tyrolese  minstrel  to  a  fancy  ball, 
110 ;  wanted  in  California,  160  ;  his 
"  New  Pastoral,"  with  its  character  of 
B.  T.,  298. 

"  Recreations  of  a  Rainy  Day,"  345. 

Redden,  Laura  C.,  letters  from  B.  T.  to, 
521,  549,  561. 

Reid,  Whitelaw,  letters  from  B.  T.  to, 
532,  553,  564,  566-569,  607,  624-627, 
655,  661,  708,  737,  744,  760. 

"  Return  of  the  Goddess,  The,"  348. 

Reuter,  Fritz,  B.  T.  meets,  342. 

"  Rhymes  of  Travel,  Ballads,  and  Poems," 
published,  137  ;  the  author's  view  of 
it,  137,  138  ;  its  fair  success,  210. 

Ripley,  George,  an  associate  with  B.  T. 
on  "The  Tribune,"  and  one  of  the 
judges  in  the  case  of  the  Jenny  Lind 
prize,  183  ;  as  a  critic,  567,  568. 

Ritter,  Carl,  324  ;  B.  T.  visits,  326. 

"Rosalie,"  B.  T.'s  first  considerable  ef 
fort  in  poetry,  26,  27. 

Rousseau's  "Confessions,"  B.  T.  discov 
ers  in  his  own  history  a  parallel  to, 
341. 

Riickert,  Friedrich,  B.  T.  visits,  326. 

"Rural  Life  in  Germany,"  by  William 
Howitt,  aids  B.  T.  in  his  plan  of  travel 
in  Europe,  34. 

Russia,  B,  T.  joins  the  embassy  to,  384  ; 
the  Czar  of,  388. 

"Russia  and  her  People,"  lecture  on, 
417. 

Sand,  George,  Mary  Agnew's  impressions 
of,  124. 

"Saturday  Evening  Post,"  of  Philadel 
phia,  first  prints  B.  T.'s  poetry,  20,  26  ; 
agrees  to  receive  letters  from  B.  T. 
when  he  is  traveling  in  Europe,  37. 

"Saul."  B.  T,  writes  a  paper  on,  438, 
440. 

Saxe-Coburg-Gotha,  the  Duke  and  Duch- 
•ess  of,  379,  412. 

Scandinavia,  B.  T.'s   interest   in,   154; 


desire  to  visit,  326;  Swedish  experi 
ences,  329-332  ;  Norwegian  experi 
ence,  334-336. 

Schenck-Rinck,  Herr,  of  Frankfurt,  with 
whom  B.  T.  lived,  49 ;  his  reminis 
cences  of  B.  T.,  50 ;  B.  T.  revisits, 
324. 

Schiller,  studied  by  B.  T.,  102. 

"  Schiller,  The  Life  and  Genius  of,"  B. 
T.'s  lecture  on,  197. 

Scott,  Walter,  death  of,  in  B.  T.'s  child 
hood,  7. 

Sedgwick,  Catherine  M.,  110. 

Seward,  William  H.,  letters  from  B.  T. 
to,  395,  397,  401  ;  his  reply,  399 ;  his 
cavalier  treatment  of  B.  T.,  414. 

"  Shelley,  Ode  to,"  by  B.  T.,  130,  134. 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  parallelism  of  B. 
T.  with,  113,  114 ;  admiration  for,  by 
B.  T.,  131. 

Smalley,  Eugene  V.,  associated  with  B.  T. 
at  Vienna,  623. 

Smalley,  George  W.,  London  correspond 
ent  of  "The  Tribune,"  accompanies 
B.  T.  to  Paris,  and  MacMahon's  recep 
tion,  737 ;  his  account  of  B.  T.  upon 
the  occasion,  739. 

Smith,  Seba,  100. 

"  Soldiers  of  Peace,"  read  before  the 
Grand  Army  of  the  Potomac,  705. 

"Soliloquy  of  a  Young  Poet,"  B.  T.'s 
first  printed  poem,  21. 

"  Sordello,"  read  by  B.  T.,  not  without 
difficulty,  418  ;  parodied  with  ease, 
423. 

Spiritualism,  B.  T.  on,  195. 

Sprengler,  Dr.,  342. 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence,  with  his 
wife,  at  a  picnic  withB.  T.,  431  ;  son 
net  to,  from  B.  T.,  432;  upon  B.  T.'s 
feat  in  reviewing  Victor  Hugo,  699; 
takes  a  large  part  in  the  arrangements 
for  the  Delmonico  dinner,  726 ;  speaks 
at  the  grave  of  B.  T.,  769. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  198,  420, 


434,  438,  445,  456,  459,  460,  471,  478, 
484,  488,491,  504,  512,  517,  520,  547, 
597,  609,  629,  630,  640,  645,  659,  672, 
726. 

Stephens,  Mrs.  Anne  S. ,  in  the  assumed 
character  of  Madge  Wildfire,  110. 

Stillman,  William  James,  associated  with 
B.  T.  at  Vienna,  623  ;  letter  from  B.  T. 
to,  630. 

Stockholm,  B.  T.'s  residence  in,  331, 
332. 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry,  reminiscences 
of  B.  T.  by,  132-134, 183,  283,  284,  354, 
368,  369;  his  praise  of  Mr.  Boker's 
"  Song  of  the  Earth,"  146 ;  poetical 
companionship  with  B.  T.,  173;  his 
"  Proserpine,"  186  ;  his  opinion  of 
"Poems  of  the  Orient,"  220;  B.  T.'s 
pleasure  in  his  poems,  269 ;  his  poeti 
cal  bouts  with  B.  T.,  283;  B.  T.  joins 
him  in  housekeeping,  344  j  aids  him  in 
devising  a  celebration  of  liis  parents' 
golden  wedding,  500.  — - 


INDEX. 


779 


letters  from  B.  T.  to,  172,  189, 

192,  197,  237,  2GO,  271,  278,  292,  299, 
320,  340,  341,  345,  349,  351,  356,  357, 
375,  370,  383,  388,  405,  410,  422,  423, 
745. 

Stoddard,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  D.  Barstow, 
letters  from  B.  T.  to,  292, 320,  380,  383, 
384,  393,  745,  757. 

"  Story  of  Kennett,  The,"  439,  451,  452  ; 
its  reception,  453 ;  criticised  by  J.  B. 
Phillips,  453-455 ;  defended  by  B.  T., 
455,  456. 

Story,  William  Wetmore,  620. 

Strodtmann,  Adolf,  translator  of  Ameri 
can  poetry,  404. 

Sullivan,  Algernon  S.,  delivers  an  ora 
tion  on  B.  T.,  768. 

"  Summer  Camp,  The,"  accuracy  of  de 
scription  in,  202. 

Sumner,  Charles,  at  Fire  Island,  177. 

Sumner,  Horace,  shipwrecked,  177. 

"  Sunshine  of  the  Gods,"  499. 

Smvarrow,  389. 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  criticism 
of,  on  one  of  B.  T.'s  poems,  499. 

"Taurus,  "162,  166. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  born,  4 ;  parentage  and 
ancestry,  4  ;  his  birth  coincident  with 
railroads,  5;  derivation  of  Christian 
name,  5 ;  moves  to  a  farm,  5 ;  childish 
life  in  the  country,  6 ;  his  first  glimpse 
of  the  wide  world,  7  ;  his  earliest  rec 
ollection  of  the  world  of  history,  7  ; 
his  childish  miseries,  7,  8 ;  his  early 
love  of  reading,  8 ;  his  out-door  life, 
8;  the  tenacity  of  his  memory  of 
books,  9  ;  his  early  longing  to  see  the 
Old  World,  10  ;  his  first  schooling,  11 ; 
under  the  influence  of  the  Quaker  prin 
ciples,  11 ;  his  early  essays  in  profanity, 
12  ;  his  out-door  school,  12  ;  his  first 
attempts  at  art,  12 ;  his  inborn  love 
of  the  artist's  vocation,  13;  his  first 
essay  in  poetic  composition,  13  ;  his 
sources  of  inspiration,  13  ;  his  linguis 
tic  zeal,  14  ;  his  storage  of  a  language, 
15 ;  his  academic  education,  1C  ;  his 
new  love  of  farming  life,  16  ;  desires 
larger  opportunities  for  study,  17  ;  ex 
patiates  on  the  charm  of  a  New  Eng 
land  academy,  18  ;  in  the  society  of 
Kennett  Square,  19  ;  his  attitude  to 
ward  reform,  19  ;  dreams  of  a  name  in 
literature,  20 ;  his  first  public  essay  in 
literature,  20  ;  his  first  contribution  to 
journalism,  20  ;  his  first  printed  poem, 
20  ;  proposes  to  teach,  23  ;  apprenticed 
to  H.  E.  Evans,  23  ;  recourse  to  books 
of  poetry,  24 ;  his  American  tastes,  24, 
25 ;  his  interest  in  Tennyson,  25 ; 
"  Rosalie,"  afterward  "  Ximena,"  be 
gun,  26  ;  is  ambitious  to  contribute  to 
"  Graham's  Magazine,"  26  ;  proposes 
to  publish  a  volume  of  poems,  27  ;  ar 
ranges  for  an  edition,  28  ;  receives  the 
warning  of  his  mother  and  a  friend, 
28 ;  publishes  the  book,  30 ;  effect  of 


the  publication  upon  his  mind,  31 ;  is 
eager  to  get  away  from  his  surround 
ings,  32  ;  his  first  journey,  33  ;  his  pe- 
destrianism,  33  ;  inquires  into  the  ex 
pediency  of  a  European  trip,  33 ;  his 
mental  struggle,  34  ;  buys  his  time  of 
H.  E.  Evans,  36 ;  arranges  to  meet  his 
expenses  abroad  by  letters  to  journals, 
37  ;  his  companions,  37  ;  goes  with  his 
cousin  to  headquarters  for  passports, 
37  ;  his  experiences  in  New  York  be 
fore  sailing,  38  ;  his  kind  reception  by 
N.  P.  Willis,  39 ;  takes  passage  in  the 
Oxford,  40  ;  his  appearance  in  1844, 
42 ;  the  meaning  of  his  two  years 
abroad,  43 ;  itinerary  of  his  travels, 
44 ;  the  record  of  his  experience,  45 ; 
sensations  upon  approaching  the  Old 
World,  45,  46;  first  glimpse  of  land, 
47  ;  his  letters  home,  48  ;  domesticated 
in  Germany,  48  ;  life  in  Frankfurt,  49  ; 
his  appearance  sketched  by  Herr 
Schenck-Rinck,  50  ;  his  early  impres 
sions  of  Germany,  51  ;  eagerness  for 
Italy,  52  ;  his  love  of  beauty,  53  ;  the 
attraction  of  his  companionship,  55  ; 
his  life  in  Florence,  56,  57 ;  meets 
Kellogg  and  other  artists,  57  ;  plans 
publication  of  poems  and  travels,  58  ; 
eager  to  go  to  Greece,  58  ;  financial 
puzzles,  59 ;  plans  for  return,  60 ; 
straits  for  means,  61 ;  literary  plans, 
62;  is  writing  letters  on  Germany, 
62;  disappointed  at  missing  Greece, 
63  ;  goes  to  London,  64  ;  falls  in  with 
G.  P.  Putnam,  who  aids  him,  65 ;  his 
literary  ventures  in  London,  65 ;  his 
formation  of  literary  acquaintance,  66 ; 
returns  to  America,  66  ;  his  fervor  on 

Eing  home,  67 ;  the  last  walk  of  the 
urney,  68  ;  his  reception  by  the  pub- 
i,  69  ;  arranges  for  publication  of 
"Views  Afoot,"  69;  his  opinion  of 
the  work,  70  ;  engagement  to  Mary 
Agnew,  72  ;  the  influence  which  she 
has  upon  him,  73 ;  visits  Boston,  75  ; 
his  appearance  as  described  by  J.  T. 
Fields,  75,  76 ;  determines  to  establish 
a  newspaper  in  Chester  County,  77  ; 
issues  the  "  Phoenixville  Pioneer,"  79  ; 
his  reasons  for  the  venture,  80 ;  his 
presentiments,  81  ;  is  puzzled  and  ex 
cited  by  a  mysterious  letter  from  N. 
P.  Willis,  83;  is  eager  to  get  away 
from  Phoenixville,  86 ;  but  makes  the 
most  of  the  place,  86,  87 ;  increases 
his  literary  acquaintance,  88  ;  dreams 
of  Ludwig  Uhland,  97 ;  takes  a  short 
journey  and  decides  to  remove  to  New 
York,  98 ;  seeks  advice  from  various 
people,  103 ;  removes  to  New  York, 
106;  teaches  in  Miss  Green's  school, 
107;  his  reasons  for  going  to  New 
York,  108;  goes  to  a  fancy  ball  as 
Goethe's  "  Faust "  110;  contemplates 
going  to  Sweden,  112;  writes  "The 
Angel  of  the  Soul,"  112  ;  at  work  on 
"  The  Tribune,"  114  ;  begins  Califor- 


780 


INDEX. 


nian  ballads,  114 ;  becomes  acquainted 
with  the  ballads,  dramatists,  and 
Wordsworth,  115 ;  perpetrates  a  poet 
ical  joke,  116 ;  has  better  prospects, 
118;  is  enamored  of  "The  Princess," 
119  ;  is  asked  by  Mrs.  Kirkland  to  take 
her  place  as  editor  during  her  absence 
in  Europe,  122  ;  sees  Henry  Ciay,  and 
attends  the  funeral  pageant  of  J.  Q. 
Adams,  123 ;  attends  a  monster  meet 
ing  in  favor  of  the  French,  123;  is 
offered  the  editorship  of  "Graham's 
Magazine,"  125  ;  accepts  and  prepares 
to  move  to  Philadelphia,  126  ;  but 
changes  his  intention,  127  ;  writes  a 
number  of  poems,  130 ;  his  admiration 
of  Shelley,  131;  description  of,  by 
R.  H.  Stoddard,  132  ;  runs  on  to  Bos 
ton  and  Cambridge  and  visits  friends, 
135 ;  publishes  "  Rhymes  of  Travel, 
Ballads,  and  Poems,"  137;  excited  by 
the  California  fever,  138 ;  his  pros 
perity  in  1849,  140  ;  makes  a  trial  trip 
on  the  Erie  Railroad,  141 ;  his  passion 
for  change,  142  ;  is  sent  to  California 
by  "The  Tribune,"  146;  his  plan  of 
travel,  148  ;  his  northern  and  south 
ern  climate  of  nature,  154  ;  his  Cali- 
f  ornian  experience,  155  ;  inspired  by 
California^  nature,  157, 160 ;  employed 
to  examine  Spanish  documents,  161  ; 
plans  for  return,  163 ;  is  robbed  in 
Mexico,  165 ;  returns  home,  165  ;  pub 
lishes  "  Eldorado,"  166 ;  his  poetical 
work,  166 ;  hard  at  work  on  "  The 
Tribune,"  171  ;  is  alarmed  at  Mary 
Agnew's  condition,  172  ;  gives  a  poem 
before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  173,  175  ; 
visits  the  scene  of  Margaret  Fuller 
Ossoli's  shipwreck,  177  ;  attends  Mary 
Agnew  in  her  journey  for  health,  180  ; 
competes  for  a  prize  in  connection 
with  Jenny  Lind's  coming,  183  ;  wins 
it,  but  feels  no  elation,  185 ;  reads  a 
poem  before  Columbia  College  socie 
ties,  189 ;  receives  a  poetic  quicken 
ing,  189  ;  is  married  to  Mary  Agnew, 
190 ;  watches  by  her  bedside,  197  ;  his 
reflections  after  her  death,  198 ;  its 
effect  on  his  work,  200 ;  resolves  to  go  to 
the  East,  201  ;  resumes  poetical  work, 
202 ;  his  ambition,  203 ;  proposes  a 
new  volume  of  verse,  208  ;  cannot 
read  poetry,  209 ;  his  mental  distress, 
211 ;  his  physical  weakness,  213  ;  has 
his  poems  ready  for  the  printer,  215 ; 
sails  for  Europe,  217 ;  renews  ac 
quaintance  with  old  friends  and  makes 
new  ones,  218  ;  goes  to  Egypt,  219  ; 
goes  up  the  Nile,  220;  dons  Eastern 
costume,  223 ;  his  power  of  attraction, 
225  ;  his  return  to  Cairo,  227  ;  his  good 
luck,  226,  228  ;  travels  in  Asia  Minor, 
231 ;  his  itinerary,  232  ;  has  the  op 
portunity  of  going  to  Japan,  233  ;  his 
stay  in  Constantinople,  236 ;  sees  the 
festival  of  St.  Agatha  in  Sicily,  238 ; 
visits  Mr.  Bufleb  at  Gotha,  238 ;  is  in 


London,  241 ;  leaves  England  for 
Spain,  243;  his  Spanish  experience, 
244 ;  reaches  Bombay  by  way  of  Alex 
andria,  245  ;  journey  to  Calcutta,  246  ; 
his  catholicity,  247 ;  adventures  at 
Lucknow,  248 ;  joins  the  Susquehanna, 
248 ;  fails  in  an  attempt  at  seeing  Nan 
kin,  249 ;  accepts  position  of  master's 
mate  in  Japan  expedition,  250  ;  visits 
the  Loo-Choo  Islands,  251 ;  learns  of 
the  purchase  of  the  Pusey  Farm,  252 ; 
goes  to  Yeddo,  254,  256  ;  is  at  Cum- 
singmoon,  258 ;  resigns  his  commis 
sion,  260  ;  embarks  for  home,  261 ;  his 
diligence  on  board,  261  ;  reaches  New 
York,  262;  enters  the  lecture-field, 
263;  his  success  as  a  lecturer,  264; 
sets  about  preparing  records  of  his 
travel,  265 ;  the  fascination  which 
travel  has  for  him,  265,  266 ;  his  in 
terest  in  Cedarcroft  and  his  family, 
267  ;  his  correspondence,  268 ;  his  pop 
ularity  as  a  lecturer.  270  ;  his  geniality 
among  strangers,  270;  his  impatience 
at  a  false  reputation,  271 ;  proposes 
publication  of  "  Poems  of  the  Ori 
ent,"  272  ;  is  elected  professor  at  short 
notice,  275  ;  is  cheered  by  the  signs  of 
his  popularity,  276  ;  is  daguerreotyped 
in  Arab  dress,  277  ;  his  literary  com 
panionship,  283 ;  nonsense  verses,  283, 
284;  visits  Washington  Irving,  287; 
his  prospect  of  pecuniary  independ 
ence,  291 ;  agrees  to  prepare  a  "  Cy 
clopaedia  of  Travel,"  292;  off  on  a 
lecturing  tour,  293  ;  preaches  at  Anti- 
och  College,  297  ;  makes  an  excursion 
with  his  parents  to  Mammoth  Cave, 
300 ;  is  proposed  as  commissioner  to 
Japan,  300;  defends  his  desire  to  go 
to  Japan,  301 ;  is  invited  to  visit  New 
foundland,  304 ;  completes  preparation 
of  a  volume  of  poems,  305 ;  goes  to 
Newfoundland,  306  ;  is  eager  to  go  to 
Scandinavia,  306 ;  receives  the  gift  of 
a  house  in  Gotha,  307  ;  meets  Thack 
eray,  308 ;  gives  him  a  breakfast,  309  ; 
his  portrait  painted  by  Hicks,  309; 
closes  his  lectures  for  the  season,  310  ; 
is  taken  ill,  311 ;  takes  lessons  in  wa 
ter-color  painting,  314 ;  is  imagina 
tively  sketched  in  a  German  biogra 
phy,  316 ;  completes  his  "Cyclopaedia 
of  Travel "  with  relief,  318 ;  goes  to 
Europe  with  his  sisters  and  brother, 
319  ;  his  English  experience,  321  ;  re 
visits  Frankfurt,  322  ;  enjoys  his  house 
in  Gotha,  323 ;  goes  to  Switzerland 
and  Italy  and  returns  to  Gotha,  324 ; 
visits  German  authors,  326 ;  has  new 
conception  of  travel,  326  ;  sets  out  on 
northern  journey,  327  ;  his  experience 
of  cold,  329,  330 ;  makes  a  stay  in 
Stockholm,  331 ;  returns  to  Gotha, 
332  ;  is  betrothed,  333  ;  sends  his  sis 
ters  and  brother  back  to  America  and 
visits  England,  333 ;  goes  to  Norway 
with  Mr.  Buiieb,  334  ;  is  married,  336  ; 


INDEX. 


781 


goes  to  London,  and  then  to  Greece, 
336;  settles  at  Athens  and  studies 
modern  Greek,  337  ;  his  interest  in 
Grecian  history  and  art,  338 ;  makes  ex 
cursions  to  Crete,  Morea,  and  Thessaly, 
339 ;  returns  to  Gotha,  leaves  his  wife, 
and  visits  Russia,  340 ;  rejoices  over 
the  birth  of  a  daughter,  341 ;  attends 
the  three  hundredth  anniversary  of 
the  University  of  Jena  and  returns  to 
America,  342 ;  abandons  travel,  in  his 
mind,  343  ;  resumes  lecturing,  344 ; 
spends  a  rainy  day  in  writing  rhymes, 
345 ;  returns  with  enthusiasm  to  po 
etry,  348  ;  is  busy  with  building  Cedar- 
croft,  349 ;  makes  a  lecturing  tour  in 
California,  350  ;  publishes  "  Travels  in 
Greece  and  Russia,"  and  "  At  Home 
and  Abroad,  First  Series,"  353;  his 
Christmas,  354  ;  takes  up  poetry  with 
new  ardor,  35G  ;  writes  "  The  Poet's 
Journal,"  3GG;  is  busy  with  Cedar- 
croft,  307  ;  entertains  the  Buflebs,  367  ; 
has  a  house-warming,  368  ;  takes  part 
in  the  Presidential  canvass,  309  ;  pro 
poses  to  translate  Gustav  Freytag's 
"  Pictures  of  Life  in  Germany,"  370  ; 
sends  "  The  Poet's  Journal  "  to  press, 
371;  writes  "The  Confessions  of  a 
Medium."  372  ;  his  political  views,  372, 

373  ;  his  ballad  of  "  Prayer-Meeting  in 
a  Storm,"  373  ;  his  controversy  with  a 
Richmond  lecture-committee,  374 ;  his 
desire  to  write  an    American    novel, 

374  ;  begins  "  Hannah  Thurston,"  374  ; 
gives  tip  his  New  York  house,  375 ;  his 
exertions  at  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
375-377 ;    goes  to  Germany  with  his 
wife,  child,  and  mother,  378  ;  his  lit 
erary  activity  there,  379 ;  is  received 
by    the  Duke  of  Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, 
379 ;  returns  to  America,  379 ;  is  in 
vited  to  go  to  Russia  as  secretary  of 
legation,   383 ;    accepts    the    appoint 
ment,  384 ;    his  reasons  for  going  to 
Russia,   386  ;    his  first  experience  of 
diplomatic  life,  387  ;  his  opinion  of  the 
Czar,  389  ;  resumes  work  on  "  Hannah 
Thurston,"  389  ;   is  left  in  charge  of 
the  mission,  390  ;  desires  the  appoint 
ment  as  minister,  390  ;  performs  im 
portant  service  in  diplomacy,  394-403  ; 
intercepts     Confederate      dispatches, 
408;  communicates  with  Mr.  Dayton 
and  Mr.  Adams,  409  ;  resigns  his  posi 
tion,  410  ;  is  offered  a  special  appoint 
ment   to    Persia,   411 ;    hears  of    the 
death  of   his  brother  Frederick,  and 
returns    to  America,    413 ;    publishes 
"Hannah  Thurston,"  415;   writes   a 
lecture  on  "  Russia  and  her  People," 

417  ;  prepares  a  Blue  and  Gold  edition 
of  his  poems,  417  ;  works  at  "  Picture 
of  St.  John,"  and  "Faust,"  418  ;  and 
begins   "John  Godfrey's    Fortunes," 

418  ;  his   work  and   hospitality,   419  ; 
his  farm-life,   420  ;  his  enjoyment  of 
the  country,  421,  422 ;  celebration  of 


his  fortieth  birthday,  427 ;  his  Sunday 
evenings  at  home,  427  ;  his  views  upon 
the  compensation  of  authors,  428-430  ; 
sets  up  "  The  Story  of  Keunett,"  431  ; 
goes  to  Washington  to  see  the  grand 
review,  433 ;  addresses  the  Progressive 
Friends,  435  ;  is  nearly  killed  by  his 
brother's  tombstone,  435  ;  is  irked  by 
household  cares,  436 ;  his  farm  ex 
periments,  437  ;  finishes  "  The  Picture 
of  St.  John,"  439,  441 ;  his  reflections 
on  it,  442, 443 ;  makes  a  visit  to  Boston 
and  neighborhood,  445,  446 ;  goes  into 
winter  quarters  in  New  York,  447  ;  is 
consulted  about  a  magazine,  448;  hia 
social  entertainments,  449 ;  takes  a 
trip  to  Colorado,  459;  the  books  he 
read,  460 ;  takes  up  painting  in  oils, 
461 ;  plans  for  work  abroad,  463  ;  his 
ambition  regarding  "  Faust,"  464 ;  his 
retrospect  in  view  of  "  The  Picture  of 
St.  John,"  465;  longs  for  rest,  469; 
goes  to  Europe,  470  ;  visits  Tennyson, 
471 ;  calls  on  Matthew  Arnold,  473 ; 
breakfasts  with  Lord  Houghton,  473 ; 
dines  with  Anne  Thackeray,  474  ;  at 
Gotha  and  Lausanne,  475  ;  at  the  Ex 
hibition  in  Paris,  477  ;  in  the  Thurin- 
gian  Forest,  479 ;  in  Venice,  480  ;  is 
taken  ill,  481 ;  and  dangerously  sick  in 
Florence,  482  ;  goes  to  Naples,  487  ; 
has  a  narrow  escape,  488;  works  at 
painting,  490 ;  returns  by  Florence, 
492  ;  to  Gotha,  493 ;  returns  to  Amer 
ica,  494  ;  plans  of  work  at  Cedarcroft, 
497  ;  labors  on  "  Faust,"  498  ;  is  asked 
to  write  the  story  of  Abraham  Lin 
coln,  499  ;  celebrates  the  golden  wed 
ding  of  his  parents  by  a  masque  of 
characters,  500-503  ;  writes  "  Notus 
Ignoto,"  504  ;  and  discusses  it  with 
Mr.  Fields,  505;  completes  the  first 
draft  of  Parf  I.  of  "Faust,"  506  ;  be 
gins  work  on  "  Joseph  and  his  Friend," 
508  ;  writes  the  Gettysburg  Ode,  513  ; 
is  invited  to  lecture  at  Cornell,  513 ; 
his  work  on  "  Putnam's  "  and  "  The 
Tribune,"  514  ;  reports  country  life  in 
"Home  Pastorals,"  516;  moves  to 
New  York  for  a  while,  524  ;  works  at 
"  Faust "  and  lectures  on  German  lit 
erature,  525  ;  goes  to  California  on  a 
lecturing  trip,  527  ;  his  interest  in  the 
Franco-German  war,  and  his  literary 
work  in  connection  with  it,  531 ;  car- 
ries^f  Faust "  through  the  press,  533, 
534 ;  his  dissatisfaction  with  country 
life,  535  ;  is  given  a  dinner  upon  the 
publication  of  "  Faust,"  542  ;  engaged 
upon  a  Second  Part,  547  ;  publishes 
the  completion,  554  ;  his  judgment  of 
his  own  capacity,  555;  the  powers 
which  he  brings  to  the  task,  556 ;  his 
memory,  557  ;  arranges  to  edit  a  "  Li 
brary  of  Travel,"  558  ;  visits  the  East 
ern  shore,  561  ;  visits  Manitoba,  563  ; 
reviews  "  The  Divine  Tragedy,"  567  ; 
determines  to  give  up  Cedarcroft,  571 ; 


782 


INDEX. 


writes  "The  Masque  of  the  Gods," 
572  ;  thinks  of  a  "  History  of  Ameri 
can  Literature,"  574  ;  collects  a  vol 
ume  of  tales,  575 ;  writes  an  ode  for 
the  dedication  of  Ward's  "  Shake 
speare,"  587  ;  goes  to  Europe  with  his 
family,  589  ;  plans  of  work,  590  ;  set 
tles  at  Gotha,  57G;  begins  "Lars," 
597  ;  writes  a  lecture  in  German  on 
American  literature,  GOi;  falls  upon 
ill  fortune,  605 ;  goes  to  Switzerland, 
615  ;  to  Italy,  618  ;  goes  to  Vienna  to 
report  the  Exhibition  for  "  The  Tri 
bune,"  623 ;  coins  a  new  German  word, 
625  ;  returns  to  Gotha,  626  ;  proposes 
to  go  to  Egypt,  627  ;  finishes  his  his 
tory  of  Germany,  628 ;  visits  Weimar 
on  the  search  for  material  for  life  of 
Goethe  and  Schiller,  630  ;  reflections 
upon  lack  of  recognition,  631 ;  de 
signs  "The  Prophet,"  632;  carries  it 
through  to  the  end,  633,  634  ;  is  de 
tained  at  Gotha,  640;  goes  to  Italy 
and  Egypt,  644  ;  meets  his  old  drago 
man  and  recovers  his  Arabic,  648 ;  is 
asked  to  go  to  Iceland  for  "  The  Tri 
bune,"  652  ;  visits  Weimar  again,  653  ; 
goes  to  Iceland,  654  ;  returns  and  sails 
for  America,  655  ;  is  entertained  by 
his  neighbors  at  Mt.  Cuba,  659;  his 
personal  explanation,  650  ;  sets  out  on 
a  lecturing  tour,  and  moves  his  family 
to  New  York,  663 ;  begins  "  Prince 
Deukalion,"  667 ;  gives  an  ode  before 
the  Goethe  Club,  668  ;  invited  to  write 
the  hymn  for  the  Centennial  Exhi 
bition,  676  ;  edits  "  Picturesque  Eu 
rope,"  and  takes  a  desk  at  "  The  Tri 
bune  "  office,  678 ;  is  called  upon  to 
write  the  ode  for  the  centennial  cele 
bration  of  Fourth  of  July,  680 ;  deli v- 
ers  the  ode,  686 ;  his  miscellaneous 
labor,  692 ;  his  exhaustion,  695  ;  gives 
his  lectures  on  German  Literature  in 
New  York  and  Brooklyn,  697 ;  re 
views  Victor  Hugo's  "  La  Legende  des 
Siecles,"  699;  excuses  himself,  but 
cheerfully  recommends  his  friends  for 
a  literary  job,  699,  700 ;  writes  at 
length  upon  the  conditions  of  a  liter 
ary  life  in  America,  701-704  ;  goes 
with  his  family  to  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs,  705 ;  hears  rumors  of  a  for 
eign  appointment,  706 ;  takes  up 
"  Prince  Deukalion  "  again,  711  ;  gives 
his  lectures  before  the  Lowell  Insti 
tute,  712  ;  resolves  to  take  up  ms  life 
of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  718  ;  writes  an 
ode  on  Victor  Emmanuel,  719  ;  receives 
news  of  his  appointment  as  minister 
to  Germany,  720 ;  his  view  of  its  rela 
tion  to  his  work,  725  ;  receives  a  break 
fast  at  the  Century  Club,  726  ;  a  din 
ner  at  Washington,  727  ;  receptions  in 
West  Chester  County,  728  ;  and  a  din 
ner  at  Delmonico's,  729 ;  where  he 
makes  a  speech,  730 ;  and  afterwards 
addresses  a  company  of  Germans,  732  ; 


is  entertained  in  a  Commers,  733  ;  sails 
with  his  family  for  Europe,  734  ;  visits 
Carlyle  in  London,  735  ;  attends  the 
President's  reception  in  Paris,  737  ; 
enters  on  his  duties  at  Berlin,  742  ;  is 
received  at  court,  743 ;  consults  a 
physician,  744  ;  meets  Bismarck,  744, 
745;  entertains  General  and  Mrs. 
Grant,  747-750  ;  attacked  by  illness, 
752 ;  is  temporarily  better,  753  ;  at- 
.tends  the  royal  wedding  at  Potsdam, 
755 ;  his  official  services,  756 ;  the 
rapid  progress  of  the  disease  which 
has  attacked  him,  761 ;  his  final  liter 
ary  labor,  762  ;  his  conversation  with 
H.  H.  Boyesen  upon  the  function  of 
the  author,  7C3  ;  his  last  days,  7G5  ;  his 
death,  766 ;  services  at  Berlin,  766, 
767 ;  removal  of  remains  to  America 
and  reception  there,  768  ;  burial,  769. 

Taylor,  Franklin,  cousin  of  B.  T.,  in 
spires  him  with  zeal  for  learning,  17  ; 
urges  him  to  accompany  him  to  Eu 
rope,  33  ;  is  his  companion,  37,  50 ; 
"  Views  Afoot  "  dedicated  to,  70  ;  at 
B.  T.'s  funeral,  768. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  56,  59-61, 

63. 

Taylor,  Frederick,  youngest  brother  of 
B.  T.,  a  letter  from  B.  T.  to,  as  to  col 
lege  education,  302  ;  goes  to  Europe  at 
B.  T.'s  invitation,  319 ;  goes  into  the 
army  with  B.  T.'s  aid,  376  ;  is  killed 
at  Gettysburg,  413. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  coveted  as  an  ancestor 
by  B.  T.,  4. 

Taylor,  Joseph,  father  of  B.  T.,  4 ;  elect 
ed  sheriff  of  Chester  County  and 
moves  to  West  Chester,  16  ;  B.  T.  in  a 
letter  to,  350 ;  celebration  of  golden 
wedding  of,  500-503 ;  goes  to  Europe 
for  a  year,  530. 

Taylor,  Joseph,  friend  of  Shakespeare 
and  preferred  ancestor  of  B.  T.,  4. 

Taylor,  Lilian  Bayard,  born,  341. 

Taylor,  Rebecca,  mother  of  B.  T.,  4  ; 
teaches  B.  T.  to  read,  7  ;  shields  him 
from  uncongenial  occxipation,  8;  her 
attachment  to  Quaker  principles,  11 ; 
debates  the  wisdom  of  B.  T.  in  pub 
lishing  "Ximena,"  28  ;  celebration  of 
golden  wedding  of,  500-503 ;  goes  to 
Europe  for  a  year,  530. 

letters  from  B.  T.  to,  17,  126,  181, 

182,  208,  214,  220,  221-224,  226,  233, 
246,  250,  254,  269,  273,  275,  297,  299- 
323,  302, 304, 306-310,  312,  314-316,  322, 
325,  331,  332.  351,  387,  392,  394,  410- 
413,  483,  490,  493,  536,  538,  540,  545, 
549,  590,  614,  617,  626,  628,  666,  743, 
751,  755,  760,  761. 

Taylor,  Robert,  first  American  ancestor 
of  B.  T.,  4. 

Taylor,  William,  accompanies  his  brother 
B.  T.  to  Europe,  218. 

Tegn^r's  "Frithiof's  Saga,"  B.  T.'s  fa 
miliar  acquaintance  with,  557. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  early  influence  of,  on 


INDEX. 


783 


B.  T.,  25 ;  his  "  Tae  Princess  "  intoxi 
cates  B.  T. ,  119 ;  his  laureateship  aud 
"In  Memoriain,"  197  ;  Ms  "Maud," 
305;  B.  T.  visits  him,  334;  a  dilapi 
dated  Jove,  334  ;  at  home,  as  described 
by  B.  T.,  471-473  ;  article  on,  by  B.  T., 
705. 

"Test,  The, "393. 

Thackeray,  Anne,  B.  T.  dines  with,  474  ; 
knows  "Hannah  Thurston"  by  heart, 
474. 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace,  B.  T. 
meets,  308  ;  and  gives  him  a  breakfast, 
309 ;  his  affection  for  B.  T.,  315,  note  ; 
wants  a  portrait  of  B.  T.  by  Law 
rence,  31G;  gives  B.  T.  a  dinner  in 
London,  321 ;  introduces  him  to  Ten 
nyson,  333. 

"  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,"  read  by  candle 
light,  9. 

" Thanatopsis "  admired  by  B.  T.,  25. 

Thompson,  Joseph  P.,  at  funeral  of  B. 
T.,7G6. 

Thoreau,  Henry  David,  177  ;  his  articles 
in  the  "Atlantic  Monthly,"  393. 

Thuringian  Forest,  B.  T.'s  first  journey 
in,  238 ;  home  and  excursions  in,  323, 
325. 

Ticknor,  W.  D.,  B.  T.'s  regret  for,  422. 

Travel,  B.  T.'s  judgment  of  himself  in 
connection  with,  205  ;  new  conceptions 
of  the  results  of,  326 ;  gradual  aban 
donment  of,  343  ;  leave-taking  of,  496. 

"Tribune,  The  New  York,"  B.  T.'s  first 
connection  with,  38;  letters  to,  on 
Germany,  59;  B.  T.'s  California,  139  ; 
B.  T.  buys  into,  140  ;  B.  T.  sent  to 
California  in  the  interest  of,  148 ;  let 
ters  to,  from  B.  T.  in  California,  156, 
157  ;  sends  B.  T.  to  Japan,  234 ;  its 
popularity  in  the  West,  263;  its  mis 
fortunes,  605 ;  B.  T.'s  interest  in,  606  ; 
sends  B.  T.  to  Vienna,  623;  and  to 
Iceland,  652  ;  B.  T.  takes  a  position  on 
the  staff  of,  678. 

Trollope,  Mrs.,  62;  kindles  at  B.  T.'s 
poetry,  63 ;  a  friend  of  Miss  Mitford, 
288. 

"Troy  Morning  Whig,"  reminiscence  of 
B.  T.  in  the,  270,  271. 

Uhland,  Ludwig,  appears  to  B.  T.  in  a 

dream,  97. 
Underground  railway  in  Chester  County, 

Pa.,  2. 
"Union  Magazine,  The,"  B.  T.  invited 

to  edit,  122. 
Unionville  academy,  resorted  to  by  B. 

T.,  16 ;  studies  at,  17. 

"  Vale  of  Aurea,  The,"  450. 

Valentine  party,  a,  115,  120. 

Valldemosa  furnishes  a  key  to  an  unused 
drawer  in  B.  T.'s  memory,  15. 

Vienna  Exhibition,  B.  T.'s  work  in  re 
porting  the,  for  "  The  Tribune,"  624- 

«  Views  Afoot,"  quoted,  10,  34,  41,  55; 
VOL.   H.  24 


publication  conceived,  58  ;  carried  out, 
69;  B.  T.'s  opinion  of  the  book,  70; 
its  character,  71 ;  perplexity  over  its 
title,  74  ;  ninth  edition  published,  136  ; 
foundation  of  B.  T.'s  fame,  227 ;  a 
revised  edition  published,  265. 

"Village  Record,  The,"  of  West  Ches 
ter,  23. 

"  Village  Stork,  The,"  759,  762. 

"  Vittoria  Saminski,"  by  B.  T.,  58. 

Voltaire  prudently  studied  by  B.  T.,  17. 

"Wacht  am  Rhein,"  B.  T.'s  translation 
of,  531. 

War  for  the  Union,  B.  T.'s  experiences 
hi  connection  with  the,  375-377. 

Wartensee,  Schnyder  von,  59. 

"  Weimar,  Autumn  Days  in,"  a  series  of 
papers  by  B.  T.,  657. 

Weimar,  B.  T.'s  visits  to,  630,  633,  638, 
641,  642 

Weimar,  Grand  Duke  of,  642. 

West  Chester  "Register"  receives  B. 
T.'s  first  contribution  to  journalism, 
20. 

West  Indies,  B.  T.  desires  to  visit,  28, 
33. 

Whipping,  when  one  may  be  proud  of  a, 
23. 

Whipple,  Edwin  Percy,  quotes  an  old 
ballad  with  corrected  spelling,  76  ;  his 
notice  of  B.  T.'s  "  Eldorado,"  179. 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  upon  the 
golden  wedding  of  Longwood,  3 ;  B. 
T.'s  early  admiration  of,  25;  invites 
B.  T.  to  visit  him,  128  ;  notices  "  El 
dorado  "in  the  "  National  Era,"  174  ; 
B.  T.  visits,  176  ;  upon  "  The  Story  of 
Kennett,"  457  ;  upon  "The  Picture  of 
St.  John,"  468;  his  "Tent  on  the 
Beach,"  and  its  popularity,  478,  479; 
to  J.  T.  Fields  on  B.  T.'s  translation  of 
"Faust,"  543;  letter  from  B.  T.  to, 
on  "Lars,"  610;  his  appreciation  of 
the  National  Ode,  687  ;  upon  "  Prince 
Deukalion,"  764. 

Wieland's  "Oberon,"  introduces  B.  T. 
to  the  world  of  German  literature,  14. 

Wiley  &  Putnam  publish  "  Views  Afoot," 
69,  70. 

Willis,  Nathaniel  Parker,  his  "Pencil- 
lings  by  the  Way,"  stimulates  B.  T.'s 
desire  for  travel,  10;  becomes  his 
friend,  38  ;  described  by  B.  T.,  39,  40 ; 
writes  preface  to  "  Views  Afoot,"  69, 
70  ;  helps  to  concoct  the  title  of  it,  74 ; 
proposes  to  engage  B.  T.  on  the 
"Home  Journal,"  81;  writes  him  an 
enigmatical  letter,  82  ;  raises  his  hopes, 
83  ;  thinks  he  has  found  a  gold  mine 
for  B.  T.,  84;  advises  B.  T.  regarding 
his  removal  to  New  York,  101 ;  invites 
him  to  supper,  110  ;  discourages  him 
from  going  to  Sweden,  112  ;  ill,  but 
not  seriously,  118;  advises  B.  T.  to 
accept  offer  from  "Graham's  Maga 
zine,"  126;  his  kindness  and  that  of 
hia  wife  to  Mary  Aguew,  182. 


784 


INDEX. 


Willis,  Nathaniel  Parker,  letters  to  B.  T. 
from,  83,  84,  101. 

Willis,  Richard  Storrs,  brother  of  N.  P. 
W.,  40  ;  companion  of  B.  T.  at  Frank 
furt,  49,  53  ;  returns  to  America,  136. 

Winthrop,  Theodore,  his  "  Life  in  the 
Open  Air  "  criticised,  393. 

Women's  rights,  the  doctrine  of,  upheld 
at  Kennett  Square,  3,  19. 

Wood,  T.  Bayard,  letter  from  B.  T.  to, 
706. 

"  Ximena,"  a  romance  in  poetry  by  B. 
T.,  27  ;  its  publication  proposed  by  B. 
T.,  27 ;  and  debated  by  his  friends, 


28,  29 ;  published  with  other  poems, 
30 ;  its  reception,  31 ;  an  occasion  of 
foot- journeys,  33 ;  introduces  B.  T.  to 
N.  P.  Willis,  38;  read  by  Hiram 
Powers,  57. 

Tewell,  George  H.,  letters  from  B.  T. 

to,  48G,  636,  647,  649,  669,  722. 
"Young  Author's  Life  in  London,  A," 

by  B.  T.,  65. 
Yusef,  a  dragoman,  who  testifies  to  the 

accuracy  of  B.  T.'s  orientals,  301. 

Ziegler,  Friedrich  Wilhelin,  B.  T.  visits, 
326. 


Poetical  and  Dramatic  Works 

OF 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


Poetical  Works.  Including  all  his  poetical  writings  except  those 
dramatic  in  form,  embracing  the  Poet's  Journal,  Poems  of  the  Ori 
ent,  Home  Pastorals,  Ballads,  Lyrics,  the  Picture  of  St.  John,  and 
Lars,  besides  those  contained  in  earlier  volumes,  entitled  simply 
"Poems."  Household  Edition.  12mo,  $2.00;  half  calf,  $4.00;  mo 
rocco,  or  tree  calf,  $5.00. 

In  it  the  face  and  the  soul  of  Bayard  Taylor  are  reflected  with  per 
fect  clearness  and  truth  —  for  there  is  nothing  to  be  concealed  or  soft 
ened  ;  no  stain  is  upon  the  memory  of  this  man  who,  having  set  poetry 
before  him  as  the  means  and  end  of  his  life,  honored  equally  his  art 
and  himself.  His  natural  speech  was  song ;  the  passion,  purity,  and 
spontaneous  flow  of  his  verse  are  alike  extraordinary.  —  Portland 
Press. 

Many  who  are  familiar  with  the  productions  of  one  period  of  his 
life,  as  presented  in  a  single  volume,  have  no  proper  conception  of  his 
power  and  scope  as  poet  as  shown  in  his  work  as  a  whole.  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

Dramatic  Works.  Including  all  of  his  poems  dramatic  in  form, 
namely :  The  Prophet,  The  Masque  of  the  Gods,  and  Prince  Deu- 
kaliou.  With  Notes  by  MARIE  HANSEN-TAYLOR.  NCAV  Edition, 
uniform  with  the  Kennett  Edition  of  Taylor's  "  Translation  of 
Faust."  Crown  8vo,  gilt  top,  $2.25 ;  half  calf,  $4.50 ;  morocco, 
$6.00. 

"Prince  Deukalion"  and  "  The  Masque  of  the  Gods"  are  the 
works  of  a  large,  ripe  mind  in  full  command  of  all  the  resources  of 
poetic  writing.  They  represent  years  of  patient  and  earnest  thought, 
a  large  acquaintance  with  men  and  life  in  all  its  phases,  as  well  as  an 
individuality  which,  although  it  had  come  into  contact  with  the 
thought  and  learning  of  many  races,  was  strongly  marked  and  harmo 
niously  developed.  No  one  who  desires  to  know  Mr.  Taylor's  genius 
at  its  best  will  fail  to  familiarize  himself  with  these  poems ;  they  are 
an  addition  to  our  literature  which  we  will  do  well  to  study.  —  Chris 
tian  Union  (New  York). 


Poems  of  the  Orient.     16mo,  $1.25. 

"  Poems  of  the  Orient "  bear  the  stamp  throughout  of  vivid  ori 
ental  experience.  With  the  exception  of  two  or  three  of  the  more 
elaborate  pieces,  it  combines  greater  spontaneity  of  expression,  a  more 
intimate  feeling  of  nature,  and  a  more  daring  flight  of  the  imagina 
tion,  with  a  nicer  artistic  finish,  than  any  of  his  former  productions. 
—  New  York  Tribune. 

Poems  of  Home  and  Travel.    16mo,  $1.25. 

In  certain  particulars  he  is  unequaled  by  any  of  our  poets.  In 
grace,  in  the  power  of  producing  clear,  distinct,  and  lovely  pictures 
of  life  and  nature,  in  straightforwardness  and  felicity  of  expression, 
in  an  exquisite  mingling  of  humor  and  tender  pathos,  in  variety  of 
sustained  poetic  power,  and  in  vigor,  naturalness,  and  manliness  of 
thought  and  style,  he  has  no  equal  among  our  home-bred  poets.  — 
Christian  Intelligencer  (New  York). 

The  Masque  of  the  Gods.     16mo,  $1.25. 

We  can  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  sublimity  of  the  conception 
which  is  wrought  out  in  the  drama.  In  some  respects  it  approaches 
"  Faust "  in  its  tremendous  power  and  suggestiveuess.  —  Troy  Times. 

The  Prophet:  A  Tragedy.     16mo,  $2.00. 

Mr.  Taylor  has  drawn  his  prophet  marvelously  well.  —  New  York 
Tribune. 

This  strikingly  original  poem.  —  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

Prince  Deukalion.     A  Lyrical  Drama.     8vo,  white  vellum  cloth, 
full  gilt,  $3.00. 

This  dramatic  poem  contains  four  acts,  —  the  first  representing  the 
disappearance  of  Classic  Faith,  and  the  dawn  of  Christianity,  —  time, 
A.  D.  300 ;  the  second,  A.  D.  1300,  depicting  the  struggle  of  the  Church 
of  Rome  with  the  human  race ;  the  third,  the  nineteenth  century,  with 
its  conflicting  Protestantism  and  Science ;  the  fourth,  the  Future,  with 
its  larger  faith  and  charity. 

The  appearance  of  this  noble  work  is  a  notable  event  in  the  litera 
ture  of  our  age ;  and  is  doubly  important,  —  first,  as  the  rich  fruitage 
and  experience  of  a  life  whose  action  makes  no  discount  upon  its  aim 
and  expression ;  and  secondly,  as  the  singularly  complete  and  high 
representation  of  the  most  illuminated  thought,  hope,  and  belief  of 
the  age.  ...  It  is  a  work  of  which  the  very  greatness  awes,  and  even 
a  little  represses,  the  language  of  praise.  It  is  a  noble  poem,  which 
crowns  the  honorable  head  of  Bayard  Taylor  as  a  master  among 
poets.  —  Portland  Press. 


The  Echo  Club,  and  other  Literary  Diversions.    "  Little  Classic  " 
style,  18mo,  $1.25. 

A  charming  book  of  fresh  and  many-sided  criticisms  of  poetry,  with 
exceedingly  skillful  and  good-humored  travesties  of  the  characteristic 
manner  of  the  best  known  American  and  English  poets,  —  Tennyson, 
Lowell,  Whittier,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Holmes,  Stedman,  Aldrich, 
Emerson,  Browning,  Bret  Harte,  Poe,  Mrs.  Howe,  Keats,  Jean  Inge- 
low,  Joaquin  Miller,  Walt  Whitman,  and  many  others. 

We  know  of  nothing  of  their  order  of  literature  equal  in  merit  to 
this  series  of  papers.  The  geniality,  humor,  and  rich  fund  of  ability 
they  display,  no  reader  of  taste  can  fail  to  appreciate.  —  Boston  Trav 
eller. 

Home  Ballads.     With  beautiful  Illustrations,  from  designs  by  F. 
S.  CHURCH,  F.  DIELMAN,  G.  W.  EDWARDS,  W.  H.  GIBSON,  T. 

HOVENDEN,    H.   BOLTON   JONES,  J.    N.    MARBLE,   F.    D.   MlLLET, 

J.  F.  MURPHY,  W.  L.  TAYLOR,  and  G.  H.  YEWELL  ;  engraved  by 
GEORGE  T.  ANDREW,  W.  B.  CLOSSON,  HENRY  GRAY,  E.  HEINE- 
MAN,  W.  J.  LINTON,  and  ORR  &  Co.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $3.00 ;  morocco 
or  tree  calf,  $7.50. 

CONTENTS:  The  Quaker  Widow;  The  Holly-Tree;  John  Reed; 
Jane  Reed ;  The  Old  Pennsylvania  Farmer. 

We  have  no  words  except  those  of  praise  and  commendation  in  re 
spect  to  this  beautiful  book.  Artist,  engraver,  and  printer  have  com 
bined  to  give  an  appropriate  setting  to  a  choice  selection  of  Taylor's 
sweetest  and  tenderest  poems,  and  the  result  is  a  holiday  volume 
which  to  see  is  to  awaken  a  desire  to  possess.  The  ballads  are  five  in 
number,  and  are  all  redolent  of  rural  life  and  scenery.  .  .  .  Each  pos 
sesses  a  charm  that  makes  it  a  well-spring  of  pleasure  to  the  poetic 
soul.  —  Chicago  Journal. 

The  gem  of  the  season  thus  far  is  the  beautiful  holiday  edition  of 
Bayard  Taylor's  "  Home  Ballads."  The  illustrations  are  remarkably 
fine.  The  full-page  figures  have  a  life  and  expression  rarely  found 
in  such  illustrations.  The  smaller  illustrations  are  all  good,  and  the 
delicate  half-titles  are  exquisite  in  design  and  execution.  The  bits  of 
landscape,  the  grapes,  the  flowers,  the  holly,  are  admirable  examples 
of  drawing  and  engraving.  —  Boston  Advertiser. 

Bayard  Taylor  in  poetry  and  in  prose  had  a  wonderful  eye  for  the 
picturesque,  and  it  is  no  surprise  to  find  how  fully  these  ballads  lend 
themselves  to  illustration.  The  illustrations  are  enchanting.— Chris 
tian  Advocate  (New  York). 


Faust.  By  J.  W.  vox  GOETHE.  Translated  into  English  Verse  by 
BAYARD  TAYLOR.  One-Volume  Edition.  12mo,  gilt  top,  $3.00; 
half  calf,  $5.00;  morocco,  $7.00. 

Kennett  Edition.  In  two  volumes,  12mo,  gilt  top,  $4.50;  half  calf, 
$8.00;  morocco,  $10.00. 

THE  SAME.  Complete  in  two  volumes.  Each  volume  includes  a 
Part.  Royal  8vo,  gilt  top,  $4.50 ;  the  two  volumes,  $9.00 ;  half 
calf,  $15.00;  morocco,  $20.00. 

Mr.  Bayard  Taylor  has  rendered  the  whole  poem  in  English  won 
derfully  close  and  wonderfully  free  from  strain  and  harshness.  Line 
for  line  and  metre  for  metre,  he  followed  Goethe's  way,  flinching  be 
fore  no  difficulties,  and  seldom  otherwise  than  victorious,  —  a  labor  so 
great  that  no  man  could  have  hoped  for  success  who  had  not  in  him 
self  enough  of  the  poetic  spirit  to  undertake  it  as  a  labor  of  love. 
Bayard  Taylor's  <l  Faust "  is  altogether,  to  our  mind,  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  feats  of  translation  achieved  in  any  modern  language.  It 
can  be  safely  maintained  that  the  rich  and  varied  music  of  "  Faust " 
has  never  before  been  as  faithfully  presented  to  English  ears.  —  Sat 
urday  Review  (London). 

Bayard  Taylor's  work  is  easily  ahead  of  all  others  in  respect  of 
critical  and  laborious  examination  of  all  the  sources  of  information 
touching  upon  the  poem  or  its  origin.  His  notes  and  comments  are 
exhaustive,  and  must  be  consulted  by  any  student  of  the  subject  who 
wishes  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  disputed  points.  Although  a  half  dozen 
translations  have  appeared  since  Taylor's  was  completed,  we  still  pro 
nounce  his  the  "  standard." —  Literary  World  (Boston). 

It  is  not  only  a  success,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word ;  not  only 
a  faithful  rendering  of  the  sense  of  the  original  in  pleasing  English 
verse,  but  it  is  a  transfer  of  the  spirit  and  the  form  of  that  wonderful 
book  into  our  own  tongue  to  an  extent  which  would  have  been  thought 
impossible  had  it  not  been  made.  —  New  York  Evening  Post. 

•  It  combines  the  excellences  of  fidelity  to  the  text  and  of  poetic 
expression  in  so  remarkable  a  degree  that  it  is  rightly  considered 
a  masterpiece  of  translation,  and  will  be  preferred  to  all  previous 
English  translations.  —  Illuslrirte  Zeitung  (Leipsic). 

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price  by  the  Publishers, 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 
4  PARK  ST.,  BOSTON;    11   EAST  17TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK. 


